#peaky blinders oc

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Part 26: Do You Love Me

Summary: Tommy and Lucy meet a man dangerous enough to frighten them both, and Lizzie reaches a breaking point.

Word Count: 6,543

Warnings: Smut, polyamory, chronic pain, references to violence, past torture, and past sexual assault.

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Chapter 2: Selfish

“Lizzie is going to be mad about that for a good long while,” Lucy commented, one hand stuffed into her trousers pocket while the other flicked ash from her cigarette down onto the cobblestones. Her eyes swiveled around, taking in the ash, flames, and glowing embers being emitted into the air by the nearby factories. All around them was the bustle of men and women going about their business, children with dirtied faces and knees marked up with scrapes and soot racing through the streets together. She dropped a few shillings into the cup of a young girl who wandered past them. 

The train station that they were headed to wasn’t particularly far, and it was good for the people to see Tommy out amongst them, walking to work and taking the train like any other ordinary working man. So when they could, they made the trek to the train on foot. 

She didn’t mind. It was nice to get out into the familiar smoky air, settled like a black cloud over most of Birmingham. Despite everything, it still felt like it was where she most belonged. In the dirt and flames of hell. 

Though it did mean that they had to keep a professional distance from each other. No hand holding or letting their sides brush and bump. They couldn’t risk looking suspiciously close. Not even in Tommy’s own kingdom of Small Heath.

“Yeah,” Tommy sighed heavily. “But what else is fucking new?”

She cast him a regretful look. “I’m sorry.”

“What? Why? You didn’t even do anything.”

“It always feels like I’m the root cause of most of her anger towards you.”

“No; you’re not.” She felt him casting her a worried look. “It’s not your fault.”

She didn’t tell him that she didn’t believe that. It would only upset him. And he didn’t need to be worrying about her feelings on top of everything else already on his plate.  

“She’s mad because you tell me things that you don’t tell her.”

“Which isn’t fucking new. That’s always how things have been. If she’s only realizing that now…”

“I think she’s more upset about it being thrown in her face than anything else.”

He shook his head, teeth grinding together. “I’m going to cuff Finn the next time I see him. Jesus Christ.”

“Arthur’s right about him needing educating. The kid can’t keep his mouth shut to save his life.” As she spoke, she rolled her right shoulder back and forth, trying to ease the twinge that had settled in it. Tommy huffed. 

“Yeah. I’ll put him in charge of running the football betting at the shop. Give him something productive to do.”

“Have Isiah keep an eye on him. They’re friends, and he’ll make sure he doesn’t do anything too stupid.”

Tommy nodded. They caught the train just before it left the station, slipping into an empty compartment and closing the door, drawing down the blind that covered the window on the door, hiding them from any curious eyes that may have tried to peek in from the narrow hallway.

“May called earlier. She said that she was at a party that a couple other MPs were attending recently. One of them was asking about you,” Lucy settled into her seat, the train whistling shrilly before starting to move, steadily picking up speed as it pulled out from the station. 

“Oh?”

“Oswald Mosley. He’s the MP for Smethwick. Also the Minister of the Duchy of Lancaster,” she fiddled with her rings, twisting them anxiously around her fingers. “May had…a lot of bad things to say about him.” Another throb of pain rocketed from the bottom of her shoulder blades up to the base of her neck, and she had to fight back a flinch. Fucking Luca. Dead and long gone, and yet still haunting her through the aches and pains that the torture he had put through had left. 

Just like Matthew, her former fiancé and the man who instigated the gang rape that left her nearly dead and fleeing to Small Heath to escape marrying him. He too lingered with her still–despite his deceased status–through the scars he and his friends had left all over her body.

I’m part of you forever, now, his and Luca’s voices, mingled into one, whispered inside her head where they now lived. 

“Lucy?” Tommy’s voice pulled her from her thoughts, his hand lightly touching her arm. She jumped a little, jerking back to life, eyes wide when they met his. “You alright?”

“Y-yeah. Sorry. Just thinking. What did you say?”

His eyes narrowed a fraction, and she was pretty sure that he sensed the slight waver in her voice that she attempted to cover up. But he must have decided not to comment on it if he did. 

“What does Mosley want with me?” He instead repeated patiently. 

“He didn’t exactly say. But May said that he was asking an awful lot about your moral standings on things. She thought that he might’ve been trying to feel out if you would be amiable to joining the new party he’s rumored to be building.”

“The fascists, you mean?”

“Yeah.” They had been sprouting up everywhere it seemed, lately. Germany. Italy. Even in England. It was spooky. “I could do some more research into him, if you think that it would be worth it.”

Tommy considered for a moment, blue eyes glancing out the window to observe the countryside they were whizzing by. “Yes, you do that. He’s gathering information about me, it would only be fair to return the favor.”

She nodded, a hand unconsciously going up to grasp at her still aching shoulder, trying to rub away some of the pain. But she never could seem to get the right angle…

“Are your shoulders bothering you?”

She looked up to find Tommy still watching her, observant eyes zoned in on where her fingers were subtly kneading. With a sigh, she dropped her hand, rolling the aching bone and muscle back and forth with a wince. There was no use trying to lie to him. 

“A little.” 

His head cocked, pushing up with his hands off the seat he was slumped in across from her to instead settle in the space next to her. “Here.”

“Tommy…!” she immediately started to protest, eyes going panickedly to the blinds covering the window of the door leading into their compartment. 

“Don’t worry. No one will see with the blinds closed. And we’re just passing country right now,” he nodded towards the window, which sure enough was only displaying green fields and farmland. “Let me help. If you don’t do anything for them, they’ll be killing you by this evening.”

Spoken from true experience. He’d seen her when the pain got really bad, leaving her unable to sleep or do anything other than cry and writhe, as if trying to get away from the pains wracking through nearly her entire upper back. 

Slumping in defeat, she nodded, turning to angle herself with her back facing him. His large hands found her shoulders, so big they nearly swallowed the entire expanse of each one in his palms–or maybe she was just that tiny. A small sigh of relief left her lips when he began rubbing gentle but firm circles into her skin, just like how the doctor had instructed him to when explaining ways to help reduce her pain. Slowly, he started to urge the tensed up muscles to relax enough to give her some relief. 

“Did you not do your stretches yesterday?” he asked. Lucy shook her head. 

“Forgot.”

She was supposed to do them everyday, to avoid things like this happening so frequently. But in all the chaos yesterday, they’d completely slipped her mind. And sleeping on the hard earth with nothing but Tommy to use as a pillow probably hadn’t helped things.  

“Hm. Sorry; I should’ve reminded you.”

“Not your fault.”

He pressed his fingers a little harder into her skin. “How’s that feeling?”

“Better.”

He hummed, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Just try to relax.”

“Pot meet kettle.”

“You want me to stop?”

“...No.”

He chuckled, the first real laugh she’d heard from him since before yesterday, and rested his cheek against her hair while his hands continued to work. Lucy allowed herself to melt a little under his touch, for a moment not worrying about them getting caught together, or about Lizzie, or Michael, or the company. She was able to just rest. Even if only for a moment. All the while Tommy gently rubbed the pain from her body.

∗ ∗ ∗  

She so did love to watch Tommy speak in the house. 

He stood there, amidst the smoke emitting from cigarettes and pipes, glasses perched on his nose, notes held in his hand, his voice ringing out, deep and rumbling. Pretty, eloquent words. He had them all in the palm of his hand and he knew it, the men seated in the benches around him, and those in the observation area with her all clinging to his every word. And when he was finished, those on his side of the room cheered and rapped their hands approvingly against the wood of their benches, the entire room thundering with the sound. 

Lucy couldn’t help but think that the room looked like a theater. 

Who were they performing for? Themselves? Each other? The people in the observation booths? All of them at once? It was hard to say. 

She spotted him seated to Tommy’s right–her left. In the row below Tommy’s, the third man in from the aisle. His dark hair was slicked back, the mustache that decorated his upper lip meticulously groomed. One side of his lips pulled up at something Tommy said, his eyes gleaming. Lucy felt a shiver go down her spine. Humor may have been what was intended to cross his face, but those eyes of his were dead. No emotion to be found in them at all. They remained focused straight ahead as Tommy spoke, except for one specific, notable moment, when they flickered towards the observational benches where she, along with some secretaries, journalists, and other observers, sat to watch the men speak. Lucy swore that for a second their eyes met, before she hastily looked away from him and back to Tommy. Her skin crawled, the fine, fair hairs on the back of her arms standing up straight. Her very insides seemed to recoil, every instinct within her screaming to get up and run as far away from that man as she could possibly get. 

She kept her eyes glued firmly at Tommy for the reminder of the time spent in the house, despite originally going there specifically to observe Mosley.

She felt that she’d gotten all the information that she needed to about what kind of person he was from just that quick glance alone. 

Soon as they were done, she stood, gathering up her notes, tucking them securely in the crook of her arm and making for the exit where she would meet Tommy out in the hall. 

“How did I do?” he asked, once he found her standing at the usual spot where she always waited for him. Lucy caught herself wishing desperately that she could have pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Splendid as always, love.”

He looked away, lips twitching up slightly, clearing his throat bashfully. “Come on.”

Lucy smiled a little to herself at the reaction, falling into step beside him, heading in the direction of their office.  

“Did you get what you needed?” he asked, as they walked.

“Sort of.”

His brow raised. “Sort of?” he quoted back to her.

“I don’t like looking at him,” she explained in a lowered voice. “He makes my skin crawl.”

“Mm.” Tommy hummed in agreement. 

“Lord Suckerby’s secretary said you’re welcome to come by anytime between now and the end of the day to see him,” she told him just as they were interrupted by a voice calling his name from one of the open doors they passed.

They stopped, turned, and were met face to face with Oswald Mosley, a barbed smile sliding into place across his features as those empty eyes bored into Tommy. Lucy’s skin roiled in response to his posh, clipped voice when he spoke, introducing himself and holding out a hand for Tommy to shake. His sly smile never once ceased, eyes never leaving Tommy’s as he took his hand and shook it firmly. 

“Let me just say, you’ve come to my attention,” the words were spoken in a croon, with the smallest of head tilts. Lucy couldn’t fully decide if the intended effect was supposed to be predatory, or seductive. 

Before Tommy could reply. Mosley’s eyes had snapped, sharp and quick, like a snake striking, to fix on Lucy. She had to fight back the urge to hide behind her lover’s back. The expression on Mosley’s face turned wolfish. 

“Well, aren’t you a pretty little thing?” She felt Tommy tense beside her at Mosley’s words. “Oswald Mosley,” he extended his hand towards her. Lucy felt ill at the thought of touching him, but forced herself to reach out and take his hand. It was cold as ice and dry as a bone.

“Lucy Winters,” she introduced herself, shaking Mosley’s hand once before letting it go, pushing away the urge to wipe her palm on her trousers. “I’m Mr. Shelby’s assistant.” 

Mosley’s eyes darted between them, one eyebrow quirking upwards, a smirk settling on his lips. “Hm. Lucky you, Mr. Shelby.” 

“If you’ll excuse us, Mr. Mosley, we have to get going.”

“Yes, yes, of course. But if you aren’t too busy, I would love the opportunity to speak with you more. Perhaps over drinks?”

Tommy considered. “You can call my office,” was all he ultimately said, hastily turning on his heel and starting down the hall again. Lucy hurried after him, not wanting to be left alone with Mosley. 

“You’re really going to meet with him?” she asked, once they were far enough away to be out of ear shot. 

“Just to hear what he has to say.” He looked over at her. “Don’t worry, I’m not sympathetic to his cause. But keep your enemies closer, eh?”

“Yeah.” She looked over her shoulder, half expecting Mosley to appear spontaneously behind them. “He scares me a little, Tommy.” Her voice was a rough whisper, half ashamed at the omission. 

“Me too.”

That got her attention, and when she looked at Tommy, she noticed something almost unsteady under the guarded armor he kept carefully in place across his eyes. Fear squeezed at her throat. 

A man who was bad enough to make Tommy so frightened was something she hadn’t even thought existed.

“You head on back to the office,” he said, changing the subject with a small clearing of his throat. “I think I’ll go see Lord Suckerby now.”

“You don’t want me to come with you?” He shook his head. “I think it’ll make a stronger impression if I go see him alone.”

“You think he’ll give you any trouble?”

“Maybe. Depends on how hard he was hit by the crash.”

She frowned. She hadn’t really thought about that. Though she probably should have. “Everyone was hit by the crash.”

“Yeah.”

“If Suckerby can’t pay us…”

“He will. I’m not giving him any other choice.”

She pressed her lips together in a small smile. “I’d like first crack at him, if it comes to it.”

Tommy shot her an amused look. “Oh, is that so?”

“After seeing those photos that he wanted us to get for him, there are a couple of things I’d very much like to do to him.”

During the train ride to London she had flipped through the small package of photographs, letters, and cheques that Isiah had handed off to her while they were in Birmingham. Everything he and Aberama had collected from the man they killed in Chinatown who had been using the contents of that package to blackmail Suckerby. Her stomach had roiled at the contents of some of them, bile rising.

Lord Suckerby was one disgusting man. Maybe after he paid them, an unfortunate accident could befall him. Like falling out a window or getting run over by a bus.  

Based on the thunderous, repulsed look that had crossed Tommy’s features when she showed him the photographs, Lucy thought he may very well be open to the idea. The envelope was now stashed safely in the inner pocket of her suit jacket, snug against her side. It would remain there until Suckerby paid what he owed them for their services.

“Alright,” Tommy said, eyes still dancing with fond, quiet mirth. “He doesn’t corporate, he’s all yours.”

She beamed, only just managing to restrain herself from throwing her arms around his neck, stretching up on toes, and planting a firm kiss to his temple that would have left his fair skin stained with red smudges from her lipstick. “Thank you, Tommy,” she said instead, adding what she hoped came across as a playful, affectionate lilt to her voice. He glanced over at her, one edge of his lips nudging upwards, eyes softening. 

They came to a hallway splitting off into two separate directions. This was where they parted ways. Her, turning left to head to their office, him, heading right, towards where Lord Suckerby’s offices were located. 

“I’ll see you soon?”

He nodded. “This won’t take long.”

“I’ll phone his office when I get in and let them know you’re coming. So they’ll be expecting you.”

“Right.”

“And then you have a few more meetings this afternoon.”

“Mm.” He lowered his voice. “I thought that we’d stay at the apartment for the night, rather than go back to Arrow House.”

“That probably would be a good idea. It’d give Lizzie some time to cool down.”

“Exactly.” 

She nodded, moving to head in the direction leading to their office. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

She walked backwards a few paces, fondly watching his broad back disappear around the corner before turning and making her way the rest of the short walk back to the little corner of Parliament that they presided over. 

∗ ∗ ∗

She had not been back in the office long when Tommy returned, heavy footed steps booming against the floor and swiping his fringe from his eyes. 

“How did it go?” Lucy asked, looking up from her desk.

“By the time I left the room, he was screaming my name,” he thumbed a cigarette from his silver case. Lucy raised an eyebrow.

“Is that a euphemism?”

Tommy snorted, plucking out a second cigarette to hand to her. “He only had twenty thousand to give to us.”

“Really?” That wasn’t even half of the fifty thousand pounds they’d agreed upon. She placed her cigarette between her lips and leaned forward towards the flame of his lighter when he held it up for her. “Does that mean I get to play with him now?”

Tommy chuckled, raising the lighter to his own cigarette before closing it with a click. “Easy, girl. I gave him until Monday to get us the full amount.”  

She pouted a little, leaning back into her chair. “You’re going soft, Shelby.”  

“No,” Tommy’s eyes danced amusedly. He reached out, brushing his thumb down her cheek. It was a risky move, since anyone could walk through the door at any moment, but she didn’t pull her face away from the tender touch. “I just want my fifty thousand pounds.”

“Mm. Whatever you say, love.”

His thumb inched into dangerous territory, ghosting over her bottom lip. She aimed a playful nip at it, and he drew his hand back with a grin. 

“Cheeky mare.”

Lucy smiled at him, batting her eyelashes innocently in an ‘I’m-very-sure-I-don’t-know-what-you-mean’ kind of way. Though remnants of his smile lingered on his face and his eyes remained softened fondly, Tommy’s expression turned serious again.  

“Hey, make that research into Mosley top priority, yeah? I wanna be ready when I next see him.”

“Yes, boss.” She gave him a little two finger salute. The corner of his lips kicked up again.

“Thank you.” 

She watched him head through the double doors into his office, leaving them open behind him, a silent invitation for her to come keep him company if she wanted. Gathering up some of her papers, she rose from her chair to follow him. 

It was, after all, an invitation that she never passed up. 

∗ ∗ ∗  

It was dark by the time they started to pack up to leave for the day. Tommy had one final appointment, but Lucy figured she would get a head start on closing the office up while he spoke with the journalist from the London Times. She eyed Michael Levitt as Adam–Tommy’s other secretary at Westminster–led him into Tommy’s office, noting the nervous way that the journalist  kept fidgeting with his hat while he waited. A moment later, Adam came back out, casting an anxious look over his shoulder to where Levitt had taken a seat in front of Tommy’s desk. 

“Mr. Shelby said I was to go home,” he came over to her desk, keeping his voice lowered. She nodded.

“Then go home. I’ll take care of locking everything up.”

“Right.” 

She watched him gather up his things and head for the door, one ear focused on trying to overhear the mumbled voices of Tommy and Levitt. “See you tomorrow,” she told Adam.

“Goodnight,” he nodded. Soon as he was gone, she stood smoothly, snatching up the little journal perched on the corner of her desk and going to Tommy’s office. He had left the doors open, so she was able to slip in without so much as a sound, footsteps muffled against the rugs lining the floor. 

Levitt was visibly sweating, stuttering over his words. Lucy raised an eyebrow, going to where Tommy’s coat was hung up to his right behind his desk. She slipped the journal into the pocket, giving it a tap twice, watching out of the corner of her eye how Tommy’s gaze followed her. He gave a barely indiscernible nod in acknowledgement, and she spun on her heel and left the room, letting her eyes meet the timid Levitt’s for a second before turning her head away. 

She flitted around her and Adam’s office, putting things away and locking them up for safe keeping, even doing some tidying. The whole time, she listened closely to the words being murmured between Tommy and the journalist. At one point, not long before Levitt rushed from the room, she heard Tommy quoting directly from some of the notes she had written in the little journal during her time spent researching Levitt and his activities. 

Soon as he was gone, she locked the door behind him and went back to Tommy’s office. 

“I take it that could have gone better?” she moved to stand on his side of the desk, arms folded over her chest and back leaning against the hard wooden edge. Her head cocked as she watched him rub at his eyes. 

“He was asking about Campbell and Polly.”

“I heard. You want him to be taken care of?”

Tommy wetted his lips, considering. “Yes,” he decided. “Last thing we need is a reporter sniffing around.”

“Yeah. He doesn’t seem like the type that we could just pay off. I’ll have some of our boys handle it at his apartment in Maida Vale. Quick and clean.” 

“Have them do it with enough flourish that it’ll make other journalists nervous. To dissuade anyone else from trying anything for a while.”

“But not easily linked to us, right?”

“Right. And let’s just keep it between you and me. Last thing I need is more temper tantrums over my not sharing information.”

“Okay.”

Tommy leaned back in his chair, reaching out to smooth his hand up and down her thigh. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

His arms looped around her, and she laughed quietly when he pulled her closer, his head tipping back to stare up at her, blue eyes wide and mischievous. 

“Adam went home?”

“Yes.”

“Hm…so it’s just us, then?”

Her fingers smoothed through his dark hair, fighting back a smirk. “Yes, it’s just us.”

With a purring sound from low in the back of his throat, he took hold of her hips and pulled her closer. 

“Tommy!” She laughed as he maneuvered her into his lap, as if this was not something they had done dozens of times before. As if she had not let him fuck her on top of his big desk the very first day they spent in the new office, her face burying in his shoulder with her teeth sinking into the thick fabric of his suit jacket to try to keep herself quiet while his cock pounded into her. 

He pushed open her suit jacket, popping free the first two buttons on her shirt and dipping his head to press his lips to the newly exposed skin. Wriggling in his lap, Lucy hissed at the feeling of his cock already hardening in his trousers, the material bulging against her. 

Tangling her hands in his hair, she tipped his head back enough to kiss him, moaning softly as his hands smoothed up her thighs, urging her to rock against him and fumbling with her belt. It was late, most people working in the building would have already gone home for the evening. But they still needed to be quiet. 

“Mm, did you lock the door?” Tommy asked in a low, rough murmur that went straight to her cunt, walls fluttering around nothing. The things he could do to her with just his voice alone were downright sinful. 

“Yes.”

He made a noise of approval that turned her legs to jelly. “Good,” he lifted her from his lap for a microsecond to slip her loosened trousers and knickers down, hand burning hot where it slid up her exposed thigh. “Always such a good girl for me.”

“A-ah…” her head lolled back, eyes rolling both at the praise and the first brush of his thick fingers across her entrance, circling lazily around her clit. 

“Gotta keep quiet, now,” he continued to mumble in her ear, breath warm where it fanned against her cheek. “Can you do that for me?”

She nodded vigorously. That was all she wanted; to be good for him. To make him happy. 

Turning his head, Tommy pressed a kiss to her temple and gingerly slipped one finger into her while his thumb occupied itself with rolling over her clit. He kept his movements careful and slow until he got her more warmed up, waiting until slickness coated his hand generously before adding a second finger and increasing the pace of his pumps. 

“There you go,” he hummed when he felt her start to flutter around him. “There you go, that’s a good girl…”

“Tom…” she whimpered, biting her lip to try to keep herself quiet, not wanting to disappoint him by letting any sounds slip out to be heard beyond this room.

“I know,” he soothed. “That’s my girl. Bite down on my shoulder if you need to.”

She did just that, nosing the material of his clothing aside to taste his bare skin between her lips. Tommy groaned, low and quiet but impossibly deep, at the first sting of her teeth against him. Her walls tightened, moments away from bursting. His fingers curled within her, pressing right into the spot that made her see stars.  

“Let go,” he ordered in a sweet whisper aimed directly into her ear, and she bit down hard to try to hinder what would have been an incredibly loud moan as her orgasm wrecked through her like a firecracker, bright lights exploding behind her eyes, entire body shuddering with it, pressing close to him instinctively.  

Tommy guided her through it, slowly coaxing her down from her high until she slumped against him.

“Good. Very good, sweetheart.”

She made a happy little noise at the praise, snuggling closer to his neck, nuzzling at the bitemark she’d left on him. Tommy stroked the back of her head, kissing her hair. Sneakily, she snaked a hand down between their bodies to palm the bulge in his trousers, and it was his turn to try to stifle his noises of pleasure, teeth locking down tight around the groan rising from his throat. 

Arms wrapping around her, he lifted her seemingly effortlessly off of his lap, setting her down on the edge of his desk while he stood, hands dropping down to fumble with his trousers. Lucy felt her mouth water at the sight of his long, impossibly thick erection bobbing against his stomach after being released from its confines. Tommy gave himself a few good, languid strokes, jaw dropping open as his eyelashes fluttered, face inches from hers. Lucy spread her legs wider, encouraging him in between them. Her hands grabbed at handfuls of his suit jacket while he lined himself up, sliding in with one deep thrust. 

“Oh,” Tommy rested his cheek against hers, hands flexing where they landed on her hip and thigh. 

“Quiet, remember?” she teased slightly, trailing her fingertips through his hair. He shivered, letting out a breathless chuckle followed by a kiss to her cheek. Burying his face in her neck, hands bracing on her body, he started to move. She could tell that he was trying to start out slow and give her time to adjust to his considerable size, but all it took was her purposefully squeezing around his cock and wrapping her legs around his waist, and his efforts went up in smoke. 

He bucked into her like a man possessed, low grunts muffled against her throat, a few trinkets rattling on the desk from the force of his thrusts. Lucy tucked her face back in against his shoulder, biting down hard on her bottom lip to try to contain her whimpers and moans as his swollen tip rubbed right up against her g-spot with each roll of his hips. 

“Shit. Squeezing me so tight, love,” Tommy rasped out, hand slipping between their bodies to rub at her clit. “Give me another one, yeah? I know you can, sweetheart.”

“Mm…” Her back arched, pressing her clothed breasts into his chest. Her legs tightened around him, and her jaw clenched with the effort it was taking for her not to let the volume of her noises get too high. His cock twitched and throbbed inside her, in the way that she knew meant his orgasm was imminent. The pleasure built like steam rising in a kettle, tension mounting until she felt moments away from bursting. Her walls spasmed uncontrollably around him, as if wanting to keep him locked in place within her for all eternity. Tommy hitched her thigh up a little higher on his hip, allowing his cock to get just that much deeper into her, and applied more pressure to her clit with his thumb. 

She came at the same moment that she managed to grab his face and bring his mouth crashing down onto hers, each of them swallowing what would have been massive moans as they both came fantastically. Her walls clamped down around him, insides fluttering with the force with which she came. Tommy’s chest vibrated under her palms with his growl as he finished, grinding his tip in as deep as he could go while spurting jets of seed into her. 

Lucy released a blissful sigh, closing her eyes and riding out the waves of her climax while basking in the feeling of him spilling his load into her. 

Tommy slumped forwards against her, face nestling in the crook of her shoulder, lips pressing to her neck delicately whilst he relaxed. His arms wound around her in a warm embrace, a quiet purr leaving his chest when she stroked the back of his head. 

“We should go,” Lucy finally broke the silence that had stretched on between them. Tommy nodded, shifting to carefully pull out of her, tucking himself back into his trousers and straightening out his clothes. He plucked a handkerchief from his pocket for her to use to clean the mix of their releases from her thighs, then let her hold onto his shoulders when she hopped off the edge of the desk and regained her balance. 

“Have you got everything locked up?” he asked as she pulled her slacks back up.

“Yeah, just gotta grab a few things from my desk to take with us.”

“Good. I wanna get out of here.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Tommy Shelby eager to leave work? Is there a special occasion I’m not aware of?”

He rolled his eyes, giving her hip a light pinch. “No occasion.” He swiped a few locks of hair off of her forehead and cradled the back of her neck, a smile tugging on the edges of his lips while his eyes looked her up and down. There was something heated in them that made her thighs squeeze together. “Except that I’m not even close to done with you yet.”

∗ ∗ ∗ 

“You know, Frances, if there were to be a snap election in this house today, I wouldn’t win it. Even if I were running against the devil himself,” Tommy remarked to their housekeeper once they’d gotten home. Frances shot him a sympathetic look. 

“I’d still vote for you,” Lucy offered. Tommy gave her a peck on the cheek.

“Thanks, love.”

He went off to go talk to Charlie where he was sulking in the stables while Lucy ventured upstairs, wandering through the winding hallways until she heard the hum of Lizzie and Ruby’s voices. Coming to a halt in the doorway of Ruby’s room, she watched them where they were seated together in the rocking chair by the window, Ruby in Lizzie’s lap, head resting on her mother’s chest while Lizzie read to her from a book. 

“Hi, Lucy!” Ruby said when she spotted her. Lucy smiled.

“Hey, kiddo.”

“Is Daddy with you?”

“He’s down at the stables.”

She let out an excited squeal, jumping off Lizzie’s lap and racing for the door.

“Ruby, what have I told you about running in the house!?” Lizzie shouted after her, but the little girl was already long gone. Lizzie rolled her eyes fondly, shaking her head and closing the book. As Lucy watched her stand to put it away on a shelf, she noticed Ruby’s suitcase laid out on the bed, half filled with clothes. 

“Going somewhere?”

Lizzie sighed, glancing over at the suitcase, then back at Lucy. “I’m taking Ruby to Arthur’s.”

Lucy stared at her. “Why?”

Lizzie’s lips pulled back from her teeth. “Because, I realized this afternoon that I’d rather swallow horse shit than sit down and eat dinner with you and him.” She began to zip up Ruby’s luggage. “I need to get away. From both of you. At least for a while.”

“You could have phoned and we would’ve stayed at the apartment in London like we did last night if you really don’t want us here this weekend.”

“I don’t know if it’s going to be for just one weekend.”

Lucy straightened. “What do you mean?”

Lizzie didn't reply. 

“You cannot be serious. Now, Lizzie? You want to toy around with the idea of splitting up with your husband now? Of all fucking times?”

“He made me look like an idiot at the family meeting!” Lizzie burst out, head lifting and tears in her eyes. “Everyone else knew about the bloody hit in Chinatown except for me! I am his wife! I should be informed of these things first! Especially before you!” The way that she spat out that last word, so full of hate and disgust, made Lucy flinch.  

“For fuck’s sake, Lizzie! There’s a lot of shit here that you are more than justified in being unhappy about, but this? Really? This is where you draw the line?” A humorless laugh left her lips. “I hate to break it to you, but him not telling you things is a normal occurrence. Ada didn’t know about what was happening in Chinatown either.” 

Lizzie looked away, irritably picking up a stuffed animal off of Ruby’s bed. Lucy took a deep breath, and when she spoke again her voice was much calmer. 

“This is not worth throwing a bloody temper tantrum over, Lizzie.”

“I’m tired of being disrespected,” she lifted her head. “I’m his wife, and he needs to start treating him as such.”

Lucy groaned, raising her palms to her face, fighting back the urge to scream into them. “Just once, could you knock it off with the attitude?”

“Easy for you to say, when you always get everything that you want–”

“Oh, do I, now?” Lucy rounded on her. “You think that this,” she gestured vaguely, “is what I want? To have to share him with a woman who openly hates me?”

“I don’t hate you–”

But Lucy talked right over her. “To have to live with the constant worry that you might push me out or he might change his mind and throw me out on the street? That it could happen like that,” she snapped her fingers. “And I could lose everything? Do you think that I wanted to live with that dangling over my head at all hours of the day, Lizzie?” She met the taller woman’s stormy eyes levelly. “We’re all getting a shit deal out of this, so stop feeling so fucking sorry for yourself, and make the best of it,” she moved to the door. 

“You are so fucking selfish, you know that!?” Lizzie shrieked after her, finally fully exploding. “You sap up all his love for yourself and leave nothing for the rest of us! You don’t care that him spending time with you means he’s not here with his family! Those children,” she pointed towards the window that looked out to the stables, “deserve a father who prioritizes them over running after his fucking mistress.”

“Don’t you dare try to use the kids–”

“Well, somebody in this household has to advocate for them!”

“Don’t act like you aren’t just using them as a way to try to get what you want.”

Lizzie’s lips slammed into a thin line. “I’m going. And I’m taking Ruby with me.”

“But not Charlie?” Lucy challenged. 

“If I thought that I could take him without Tommy tearing me apart over it, I would,” Lizzie’s voice had suddenly grown very quiet. “I’d take the two of them far away from you both and never look back.”

Lucy shook her head, exhausted. “He’s not that bad, Lizzie. Compared to what he could be? He’s not that bad at all. He doesn’t hit you. He loves those kids…” she could see from the expression of stone on Lizzie’s face that none of her words would be able to reach her, and yet she tried anyway. “He’s got so much to deal with right now. Please don’t make it worse for him.”

Lizzie continued to just stare at her with a look of both extreme sorrow and loathing, and then she picked up Ruby’s suitcase and shouldered past her without another word.

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[novashelby]

Forgive Me-Tommy Shelby Smut

Pairing: TommyxReader(third person)

Word count: 2k-ish

Summary: Tommy Shelby is attracted to his attorney's daughter, and decides to corrupt her little nun brain at work.

Prompt: "What makes you think I am going to fuck you?"

Warning: Degrading language, non-con, Dubcon, oral(m), religious banter.

@darlingsfandom

“Y’know,” Tommy said, weaving himself through the wooden pews. It was a rare occasion that he was in church as he and God didn’t talk very much. If not, at all. You see, they weren’t on the best of terms. But he could admit that. He had no shame in his religious affiliations, or lack of. But her? Looking at her kneeling in the novice robes with her hands folded was laughable, at best. Tommy pointed his finger at her, wiggling it. “This, honestly…Love, why?”

She’d been trying hard to focus on her prayer for the last thirty minutes, knelt down, hands folded. Stiffening, she rolled her eyes up and let out a long sigh of frustration. Perhaps she was a little wild in her teen years, but what did he know of any of it? He was just her father’s client. Her father was an attorney, a big wig one in London. However, she hardly ever associated with him. And the only times she ever spoke with Mr. Thomas Shelby was when she was required to go to dinner parties and he just so happened to be there. “Mr. Shelby,” she greeted, though he’d been circling the pews for quite some time.

Finally he made it to hers, sliding in and kneeling right next to her. When his elbow caressed her arm, she flinched away, giving him a wild look. Amused, he asked, “oh, sorry, is that a sin these days? I mean, you are a messenger of God…know all his updated terms of services, eh?”

Getting up, she looked down at him.  “Instead of saundering within the pews, perhaps you should head to confession, Mr. Shelby. I can direct you, if you’d like? Or….” She leaned in, a snarky grin playing on her face. “I can give you the fast pass to hell, surely the Devil can’t wait to meet his biggest fan from Birmingham, eh?” It was the mockery for him. The little teasing infliction of her voice. Eh. He reached up to grip her cheeks, but she turned away before he could. Tommy got up and followed her, and when she heard the click of his lighter, she stopped. “There is no smoking allowed in the church, Thomas. Put it out.”

The cigarette rested between his fingers. “Do the rules still apply to nonbelievers?”

“If you are such a nonbeliever,” she said, turning on her heels. “Then you’d best find better company elsewhere.” Instead of leaving, he sat on the priest’s velvet chair on the altar. He leaned back, crossing his legs as if it was his lounge chair. Luckily for her, she was the only one in the church besides a few custodians. 

“What would your father say,” he said, pointing at her with a cigarette, giving her a knowing look. “Being so disrespectful to his client. To an older person. To a man.”

“He’d say nothing,” she quipped, gathering her bag with her notes and bible. Some of her hair had been peeking through her white veil. Tommy pushed off the chair and walked over, grabbing her arm. Flinching, she pushed him off, a nasty glare on her face. “Don’t touch me-”

“C’mere,” he said, regaining his grip and pulling her in. “You’re being immodest,” he said, a teasing glint in his eyes as he poked the loose strands back under the veil. People were weak under him. Once they were trapped by his little games, it was hard to push away. And she was no different, so small under him. Like the good girl she was meant to be, she stayed in place. “You see,” he started, words muffled slightly from the smoke perched between his lips. “I don’t think this is all you. I think…I think you are here just to be a little fuckin’ brat-”

“Mr. Shelby,” she interjected. “If you don’t mind, I have to get to study.”

When she tried to move from him, he gripped tighter. “I do mind, actually.” Yes, it was true, she had a wild era once in her teens. But it stopped at dancing and drinking. Never had she ever broken the seal. The church was safe. It was to keep her safe, and never had she considered the scenario where a man had her trapped. Mr. Shelby of all men. The small of her back pressed against the side of a wooden pew, digging into her body. The edge felt sharp, even through her thick robes. “I quite like your company. I find it…redeeming? As if my soul is just cleansing being in your presence.”

“You’re mocking me,” she said in a mere whisper, their eyes connecting.

“No,” he said, sarcastically while his knee pressed between her legs. “It’s true. Forgive me, I’m just thinking….” He paused, words trailing off. “Just how much you can save me.”

“I’ll pray for you,” she said, pushing at his chest, but he was just too strong for her.

Grinning, he leaned in, forehead resting against hers. “And how do you pray? On your knees? Hmmm…that’s a good idea. You’ll pray for me, right here. On your knees. Go on, be a good little girl and get on your knees.” He stepped back and waited. His face said it all…don’t try to move. Without breaking eye contact, she slid to her knees. A nun, sure, but she knew enough about life to understand what he wanted. “What do you think you should do?” he asked, all emotion leaving his voice. Her hands reached up to his trousers, closing her eyes. To his amusement, her fingers fumbled with the belt loop, struggling. “I guess those wild years did you no good. Or are you just out of practice? C’mon.” He took over, undoing the metal clasp on his belt and unzipping his trousers.

Eyes squeezed shut, chin quivering, she sobbed. “Mr. Shelby, please-”

“It’s coming, love,” he chuckled, flicking her forehead. “Take it out.”

“You don’t understand,” she said, pleading, tears streaming down her face. “I could lose my apprenticeship!”

“Then Mr. Shelby will give you a better one,” he said, grabbing her hand and placing it against his hardening cock. “Take it out, go on. Do your job.” She couldn’t look at him while doing it; pulling the waistband of his underwear down by the hooks of her fingers. Her fingers gently caressed the cock before it came out, displayed in front of her. Gently, he lifted her chin. “Open your eyes.” Her eyes fluttered open, averting her glance from his cock. Tommy laughed, and teased, “looks like you don’t wanna be here. Come on now, put a smile on that pretty face.” He pulled the sides of her trembling lips and forced a smile upon her face. “There we go, all happy to take your father’s cock.” The words were enough to send a chill up her spine, nevermind his throbbing cock lightly teasing at her lips. Releasing her lips, he snaked his hand around her head and grabbed her hair through her veil. “That’s what you call your priest, right? Haha, Father Shelby….Fuckin’ ‘ell. Never in my life….” 

“I’ll do it,” she agreed in a whisper. Just please stop taunting me. 

“I know you will,” he said, his other hand rubbing her cheek. What he did next took her by surprise; pulling her head back and a ball of spit forming at his lips. He spit in her face. “Cause I know and you know that deep, deep down you are a dirty fuckin’ girl that craves a cock buried in her holes.” She nodded to please him, repeating that she was a dirty girl and that she wanted his cock in one of her holes. The spit was running down her cheek, dripping to her dress leaving a wet streak. 

“Ahhh,” she moaned, opening her mouth wide and sticking her tongue out. He commented how no true good girl knows how to display her mouth so pretty. Leaning in, she took the tip first; kissing, sucking with a pop. Salty and feeling like sin, his precum rested on her tongue. Deeper he had told her, hands resting on the back of her head, pressing her lightly.

His hips jerked and twitched slightly as he cursed. “Shit,” he hissed, fingers digging into the veil. “C’mon, you can take daddy in more. I know you can…Fuck, baby. How dare you try to hide this mouth from me.” Nervously, she choked and tried to back away before taking him in a little more; tongue swirling around his length. 

With a free hand, she wrapped her fingers around the base of his cock and pumped while her tongue worked the tip. Removing him from her mouth, she slid her lips in an array of kisses and licks around the shaft before taking him in again, sucking up and down, drool dripping from her bottom lip. Tommy closed his eyes, gently rocking his hips into her, head thrown back. Fuck he hissed, enjoying how her mouth was so warm and wet around him. It took all his strength not to pick her up and throw her over the altar. No, no…he couldn’t be that disrespectful. “Fuck, baby girl…You’re too good. You’re so good for me. Look at you…being such a whore for the Devil of Birmingham.” She hated to admit it, but it was getting to her; his hands, his words, his cock. Her legs were trembling with need, and it made her feel ashamed. Sucking his cock, she moaned at his degrading, taunting banter.  “Faster, whore….C’mon, take your daddy deeper.” He pushed in more. The poor girl choked as it hit the back of her throat, but he loved that. It was the best feeling; dominating a cunt’s throat. The way it would make their throat burn. It certainly made hers burn in agony, but she wanted to make him happy. He paused, thumb wiping away tears from under her eyes, giving her a moment's beak. Then, to his surprise, it was her who started bobbing her head again, looking up at him with doe-like eyes. 

Tommy didn’t break eye contact, enjoying it as some form of submission. Bobbing her head faster, her moans matched the speed. To keep him the way she wanted, she gripped his hips. “What a pretty girl,” he commented when she pulled back, allowing the pool of spit in her mouth to drip over his twitching dick. She smiled up at him, lips puffy and abused, before sucking him back in; licking, sucking, swallowing. He helped her along, feeling his orgasm build up; bucking his hips forward, faster and with better rhythm. “Good girl, my good girl…fuck! You’re going to swallow it all for me, right?”

“Mmmhm,” she moaned, cock filling her mouth as she matched his speed.

“Daddy is going to fill all those fuckin’ holes,” he said mid high. “Every one, baby girl. You’re gonna drip his cum from your tight ass and daddy’s going to breed that tight fuckin’ cunt.” His words spilled out, and after a while, he was incoherent. His orgasm ripped through him, lacing the inside of her mouth with hot ropes of cum. “F-fuck,” he groaned, getting a few last pumps out while his eyes went hooded. Breaths jagged and uneven, he pulled away, gripping her chin. “Show daddy…ah, good fuckin’ girl. Swallow it.”

“Ahhh,” she moaned, mouth opened as if she was proud before swallowing it. It tasted salty and a bit sweet. Truthfully, perhaps a little vile, but it made her feel dirty. Tommy leaned down and pressed a kiss to her cocked ruined lips. “Thank you, sir.”

“I told you,” he said, teasing. “I know you are just a dirty little slut deep down. Now, are you going to go repent your dirty little sins or do you want to go for a ride with Mr. Shelby?” He tucked himself away and helped her up. “C’mon.” He answered for her, helping her out of the church and to his car. 

She looked up at him, and asked with a teasing glint in her eyes, “What makes you think I’m going to fuck you?” 

“We already established,” he started, pushing the wooden doors open. “You’re a dirty little girl.” 

[call-sign-shark]

Heaven in Your Eyes || Arthur Shelby x You

Summary: It was supposed to be an entertaining evening. Boxing fights, booze and party. It wasn't supposed to be one of the worst days of your life. || Featuring Tommy Shelby x Reader

Words: 4.5k

TW: angst+++, alteration of canon events, canonical violence, depictions of slaughter and body horror, main character death, Reader's husband dying, suicidal thoughts, graphic murder. Parts in bold are direct quotes from the show. Parts in Italics are direct quotes from preceding chapters. Also, Tommy will take more space in the next chapters.

Notes:

✞ Shorter chapter because it's extremely violent and angsty. Also, I'm super rusty so I tried to write it in a more direct style so it's prolly less poetic and beautiful.

✞ This is chapter 16 of the Arthur Shelby x You series Heaven in Your Eyes. Each chapter can be read as stand-alones but reading the whole series will make the experience far more intense.

PREVIOUS || Masterlist || NEXT PART

The extraordinary general meeting of the Shelby Ladies Club.

This is what Polly called this unexpected little meeting in the bathroom right in the middle of the rigged fight happening a few rooms away. When you entered the lavatory with Ada complaining about the sparring between Goliath and Bonnie, Aunt Pol was taking a cigarette from the silver case she was holding while Lizzie was fixing her hair.

“I love your messy bun, Heaven.” Lizzie complimented when she saw your reflection in the mirror she was using.

“Thank you Liz. Ada scolded me and decided that it would be a better hairstyle for tonight.”

“You never style your hair except for braids and it’s a fucking shame considering how beautiful and long your white mane is.” The young Shelby sister insisted.

“If you say so,” You snorted, amused, “What are you doing here? Plotting and scheming? Leave these for Thomas.” You smirked, sitting on the edge of a sink with movements as nimble as a cat. Your little cutting remark had the expected effect: the three girls laughed with sincerity, somewhat amused by the beef between you and the family’s boss. They had eventually learned that nothing could ever ease the tension between the two of you, so laughing about the matter was the only thing they could do. A part of you couldn’t help but think that they wouldn’t find it that amusing anymore if they knew the unhealthy turn your mutual hatred had taken.

What did you feel when we kissed? A shiver ran down your spine as you heard Tommy’s husky voice, as charming as venomous, whispering in your ear. It might only have been a memory, but you could almost feel his hot whisky breath brushing your skin.

“Heaven has some news.” Polly’s voice resounded in the bathroom, snatching you from your thoughts.

“Me?” You asked, batting your bambi lashes in incomprehension before the understanding of the situation slapped you right in the face.

“Well, tell her. Now! While the men are screaming for blood.”  Polly sneaked a cigarette between her thin, red lips. 

Your blood momentarily froze in your pale veins for this unexpected pregnancy wasn’t something you wanted to talk about. For sure Aunt Pol didn’t mean to do harm, but the surrounding chaos and your last encounter with Luca Changretta seriously eroded your wish to have a baby. The baby who made you so vulnerable during times that were anything but good. Moreover, a quick glance at Lizzie’s sad and anxious eyes had been enough for you to understand that something was weighing on her shoulders. Something you had guessed for a few days. Something she needed to talk about more than you. The corner of your mouth turned up in a half-smile.

“Well, I discovered something about Lizzie but I think she should be the one making the announcement. Shouldn’t you, Lizzie?” You winked, replacing one of your long white strands of hair behind your pierced ear with a naive pout. Glitters of hope and gratefulness suddenly sparkled in the ocean blue of the secretary’s eyes to whom you replied with a discreet nod before grabbing Polly’s cigarette case.

“I’m up the duff. And it’s Tommy’s.”

You took a long drag on the cigarette and slowly exhaled the smoke by your nostrils as the attention was now on Lizzie. Even though Ada almost choked on her sip of gin, she quickly showed interest in the tall woman’s pregnancy. The only one you didn’t fool was old and cunning Aunt Pol who gave you a brief “okay I get it” glance before turning back to Lizzie.

It’s a girl. Call her Ruby. Ruby Shelby. She’ll be a star in a Hollywood movie.

You watched the scene with a light smile floating upon your plump and glossy lips, satisfied by the outcome of your little trick as well as the surprising unconditional support Lizzie was receiving after years of being seen only through her job as a prostitute. Admittedly, the reason behind the little push you gave to Lizzie Stark was purely selfish, but you couldn’t deny the fact that you kind of liked the woman despite never really interacting with her. She got the attention, and you got peace. It was a win-win situation.

“Congratulations, Lizzie.” You said, your siren-like voice as soft as a lazy ocean.

“She’s a real Shelby lady now. Just like you, Devil.”  Polly’s smirk betrayed her amusement. You rolled your eyes teasingly before proudly showing your left hand and wiggling your small fingers to display the magnificent wedding ring Arthur had gifted you.

“What about you Hev? When are you planning to give us a little Arthur?” Ada suddenly asked, Lizzie's news had visibly rendered her sour mood better.

“I think one Arthur is enough for now, don’t you?” You got up from the sink and carefully smoothed the folds your revealing black dress, “Anyway. Ladies, let’s rejoin our gentlemen.”

“I guess the meeting is over.” Ada added with a little chuckle

Joining deeds to words, Polly gently hooked her arm with yours in a motherly gesture and guided you outside, where the crowd’s roars were echoing.

Laughs and cheers filled the room as Johnny Dog put on a show to get more men to bet on the winner of this fight. Swallowing a mouthful of gin, your seraphic traits turned into a wince at the burning sensation the alcohol left in your throat – that new batch was strong, indeed. The sweet taste that exploded on your tastebuds, when the tip of your rosy tongue licked your juicy lips, made you grin, or maybe it was the all-consuming smell of sweat and blood that lingered in the air. It might come off as surprising for other women, but you enjoyed watching fights. There was something brutal but so real about them. After all, humans were just animals wearing suits. Animals which, according to you, had barely learned to speak instead of growling.

Your lips pinched the cigarette as you took another drag you quickly blew, your eyes following blood spurting from Bonnie’s nose and splattering the ground. Although quieter than Polly, Lizzie, and Ada, who were laughing, screaming, and sometimes nudging you in excitement at each violent blow the Romani boy gave back to his opponent, you had a lot of fun. Until a peculiar but familiar feeling blossomed within.

It started with a chill creeping down your spine and ended up with light tremors shaking your frail silhouette. Instinctively, you raised your piercing gaze and searched for Arthur somewhere among the crowded rows of folded seats. Your usual calm demeanor faltered as you noticed that your husband seemed troubled by something, rapidly glancing from here and there, attempting to read the room for whatever reason. He didn’t even pay attention to you, far too busy observing the men that were around the boxing ring. Eventually, Arthur stood up and left, his steel blue eyes fixed on someone he followed through the depths of the building. Let me do my fucking job! That’s what he barked at Tommy, or at least what you thought you overheard.

You frowned as a strange sensation rippled through your mind – like a distant, haunting whisper of something looming, a threat. Nervously swallowing your saliva, your first reflex was looking at Tommy. You couldn’t place it, but the odd feeling gripped you tightly like an omen you couldn’t shake, warning you of an approaching storm. It seemed like little King Shelby shared your inner agitation though, for his mesmerizing turquoise eyes dived into yours with the same nervousness and incomprehension. Whatever the many reasons behind your hatred, you were definitely on the same wavelength at this very moment. The silent conversation, expressed through brief eyebrows and eye movements, was more or less the following:

-Where is he going?

-I don’t know. It’s prolly the booze and the pills.

-It’s not. I’ll check.

-Don’t fucking do that.

You stood up from your seat with a clenched jaw and, feeling the vibration of this bad omen quaking your soul itself, you nimbly snaked in and out through seats and followed Arthur’s steps. As was the case for your husband a few minutes ago, the dark corridor into which you rushed engulfed your ethereal silhouette like a hungry giant.

“Fuck.” Tommy mumbled, straightening on his seat and leaning forward, “Fuck.” He repeated, torn between his own doubts and his disdain for you. Nevertheless, if there was one thing he had learned since you joined the family was that your gut feelings were never wrong. You proved it several times, starting by foreseeing Charlie’s abduction. The dark-haired gangster sniffed and nervously rubbed his chin, his catlike eyes going back on forth between the corridor and the crowd. A few minutes later, Tommy finally left the fighting pit.

Something was definitely off.

Cautiously walking through the maze of dark hallways dimly lit by a bluish light, you tried to ignore the maddening beat of your heart that was drumming so loud you felt it hammering in your temples. You didn’t really know where you were heading, nor where Arthur went, but the more you moved forward, the more this unbearable feeling of dread and panic invaded you. Your aimless wandering came to an end when the strong and metallic smell of fresh blood and the atrocious sight that followed jumped at your face.

No.

Your heart nearly stopped when you saw him – your husband, slumped on the ground, blood soaking through the collar of his shirt as it gushed from the wound across his throat.

No!

Time seemed to slow down, and your heart seemed to stop as you took in the scene: the gun the Italian bastard was holding in his steady hand aimed at Arthur’s head.

Panic crashed over you like a tidal wave, washing away everything but the rage that had piled up within you during all these years. In that moment, something primal and destructive snapped inside of you. In a blur of rage and raw instinct, and with a guttural scream that seemed too inhumane to come from you, you launched yourself at the mafioso, who barely had the time to turn around. Another furious shriek escaped from your quivering lips, similar to the rabid screech of a wounded banshee, and with your fingers curled into claws, your sharp nails slashed across his face.  

“PUTTANA!” The man yelled and gasped, taken aback by your unleashed fury.

The mafioso fired with his gun in a desperate attempt to kill you but the brutal impact between your two bodies threw him off balance and the shot reached the wall instead of your brain. As his spine crashed against the tiled ground, Changretta’s henchman dropped the weapon. You gave it a brutal blow to make it slide away from him.

Another wave of insults followed as he realized that he struggled to overpower you. You were fighting like a cornered animal, wild and relentless. Your claws scratched him again and again, leaving raw and jagged lines of blood all over his face. The mafioso's strength was starting to falter as he realized that you weren’t just fighting to win; you were fighting to kill him, your body moved by the instinct of a bloodthirsty beast that refused to be caged.

"Stop it, you fucking bitch!" A scream of utter pain brutally tore the air as, completely out of your mind, you dug your thumbs into his skull, pushing harder and harder in an attempt to gouge his eyes. The Sicilian man produced a second sound so twisted that it seemed beyond anything a human throat could produce. The more you pushed with your thumbs, the more you felt his eyeball turning into a viscous pulp. The feeling of the moist and warm liquid on your fingers didn’t stop you. Nor the man’s wails of pure agony, with its pitch far too high and too broken.

“Ajùtami! Ajùtami!” He pleaded, his hands felt the ground in panic, searching for anything he could use to push you away from him. Anything to make you stop. Realizing that nothing was around him, not even the thread he used to attack Arthur, he managed to overcome the pain and gather his strength to grab your throat.

With your air squeezed, you wheezed and removed your fingers from his skull to claw his strong hands. “S-Stop!” Panic flooded you as your vision blurred, black spots dancing at the edges. The harder you fought, the harder he strangled you. Seriously lacking air, you clawed at his arms, desperate to breathe, but his grip was iron. Now you had to do something and do it quickly if you wanted to have a chance to save Arthur.

Your thoughts raced, frantic, until instinct took over.

I love your messy bun, Hev!

The judas stick – now you had a chance. With one quick movement, you brought your hand to your bun and your fingers fumbled for the sharp metal judas stick that was holding your hair in place. It came in handy. With a choked sound, you drove it upward and sunk the sharp edge of the stick into the man’s side.

One time.

Two times.

Three, four, five, six…

Side, chest, shoulder, face… 

Each impact was vicious and powerful, tearing through the flesh like butter and drilling into organs and bones with the sheer will of maiming your enemy. Hot blood splashed all over you and around, but you didn’t care. The only thing that made you stop stabbing him was when you felt the man’s grip loosen around your throat until his arms dropped on the red-smeared ground in a loud thud.

“Fuck!” You sucked in a sharp breath, your voice hoarse from being choked. However, you quickly got up from the corpse to run to your husband.  “Arthur!” You screamed, rushing to his side, your hands trembling as you knelt beside him – or rather as you dropped to your knees, your legs unable to support your weight anymore. Panic seized you even more violently as you saw Arthur's deep wound and the blood—too much blood.

“No, no, no… not like this,” You whispered, voice cracking. You couldn’t lose him, not here, not now. Never. Your fingers brushed over his chest and, in your deepest desperation, you looked for his pulse. A pulse you found, but which was becoming slower and fainter as seconds flew by. “Arthur! Please!” You started sobbing, tears streaming down your face and mixing with the fresh blood that was painting your skin in a disgusting shade of red. You had to face the truth: Arthur was dying. The damages were too serious and the bleeding too much… But you were a witch. The gift of healing was coursing through your veins. The only problem was that if you tried to save him by using your magic, you’d hurt the baby. After all, that was what happened when you tried to kill Luca Changretta with a heart attack.

The baby.

Your husband or the baby?

Your heart painfully raced in your chest. Your erratic breathing and your sore throat made you feel like you weren’t getting enough air.

 “I’d love to have kids with ye, eh. Little white-haired and blue-eyed us running barefoot in the forest… Little embodiments of our love brightening our life.” His voice was merely a whisper now for he was slowly falling asleep, “I’ve always wanted to be a dad… but thought I was too messed up for that.”

You could save him. You had to. Despite this torture of a dilemma and the harshness of the decision, nothing could change your mind, not even the feeling of your heart shattering into millions of shards. Closing your eyes, you placed one hand over his throat, the blood warm under your palm, and the other on his chest. Wasting no time, you channel all your strength – the connection sparked, and the raw, untamed magic you inherited from your mother surged through you. It seemed to work at first, his pulse lightly responding to yours.

But the more the magic surged, the more you felt a terrible pain in your belly. It started as cramps but quickly escalated into suffering so high that you felt like someone was stabbing you. A trembling squeal escaped from your red lips. You were killing it, you knew it. You were killing your own baby.

"Come on, come on," You muttered, pushing harder, forcing your will into his body. "Stay with me, Arthur," You whispered, tears streaking down your face, each sentence cut by muffled cries of the mafioso you had slaughtered and who was still alive— not for too long to be honest. He seemed to say something in Sicilian but you couldn't understand what. And you didn't care. "Just... stay with me." You gritted your teeth, doing your best to put up with the pain.

Click.

You froze.

“You nosey little slut. You should've stayed with the others.” 

Your heart missed a leap at the unknown male voice, carried by a thick Italian accent. The mafioso’s colleague looked at you, gun pointed right to your head.

"Remember me?" He asked with a wicked smile, recalling the moment he had offered you a cigarette a few hours ago. During your brief chit-chat, he told you that his name was Damiano but you didn't make the connection between Changretta and his Italian heritage.

“Don't cry, you're going to meet with your husband again very soon." the imposing man added, a few seconds away from ending your life. However, Damiano didn't know what you were capable of. Even less now that you were driven by pure rage and despair.

“Shut the fuck up!” You suddenly yelled, your claws firmly anchored in your husband to make Damiano understand that no one would snatch him from your arms. Your voice, a seductive melody that could enchant like a siren’s song, suddenly sounded monstrous. Raw and primal, the way you screamed the threat echoed in the entire maze of hallways and made Tommy’s blood freeze in his veins, a few corridors away. “Fucking die!”

Damiano didn't know that he never stood a chance. You sealed that man's demise with one blunt arm movement as if you had wanted to chase a mosquito from your face.  

"Wh-What..."

Damiano, fell on his knees next to his dying friend, and writhed on the floor. With his two hands pressing on his chest, he suddenly started to choke and, right after, threw up a great amount of thick blood. Apart from the vomiting, blood soon seeped from his eyes and ears, bubbling like something inside was boiling them alive.

"P-Please!" He begged but you didn't stop. The man obviously tried to scream but the only sound he could produce was disgusting gurgles.

"Don't worry, you're going to meet your friend pretty soon." You replied with a cold and sardonic tone before closing your fist, the man's lungs responding to your gesture by imploding in his chest. Like his colleague's arms did a few minutes ago, Damiano's whole body crashed against the floor with a thud.

Quickly, you shifted back your attention to your husband and kept giving him all your energy while ignoring the black dots that were dancing in front of your eyes, as well as the awful, unbearable stabbing sensation in your core. You were definitely hurting yourself by using your power that much but you didn't give a fuck. “Arthur, please.” You growled, a feeling of dizziness building up so bad that you didn’t even hear the hurried footsteps that were coming closer, nor the hoarse, familiar voice of your brother-in-law.

"FUCK!" You exclaimed. You were losing Arthur again.

The three bodies lay strewn like discarded puppets, their lifeless forms twisted and broken on the blood-flown concrete floor. The once clean backroom had transformed into a nightmare realm of gore and horror that made Tommy's stomach turn upside-down.

The Peaky Blinder's boss took two steps back and brought his calloused hand to his mouth, fighting against the urge to puke – and God knew it took him a lot considering the atrocities he witnessed and did during the war. His turquoise gaze scanned the room, which had turned into a slaughterhouse. A fucking pool of crimson blood. First, he saw the limp and distorted corpse of Damiano, whose eyes were open wide in horror despite him being dead and cold. The terror in his frozen facial expression left no doubt about how awful his last moments must have been: he had suffered, and he had suffered more than a lot. Then, he caught a quick glimpse of the second victim. With his eyeballs reduced to a reddish foul mush, the lacerations on his face, and the abnormal number of stabbing wounds, the mafioso’s body was so maimed that it looked disgustingly grotesque.

Then he saw Arthur.

"Oh my God. Oh my fucking God — Arthur!"

Amidst the chaos, where the air hung heavy with the acrid and pungent scent of blood, Tommy's screams echoed far away in the distance as you knelt there, eyes wide open and silent tears streaming down your cheeks, mixed with dark trails of ruined mascara.

Tommy reacted immediately and knelt near his brother with a panic so uncontrollable that it swept away every ounce of coldness and self-control he usually displayed. He slapped his brother's cheeks several times in a vain attempt to help him come back to a conscious state but it didn't work. Thomas Shelby's fist hit the floor with frustration as the feeling of powerlessness crept into his heart. He was losing another brother and there was nothing he could do to save him.

But you could.

"Heaven, d'ya hear me?"

You let out a muffled whimper, or at least you thought you did as your senses saturated with one unique sound: a relentless ringing that echoed in the hollow caverns of your mind. With each pulse of your heart, the sound intensified, threatening to consume the last remnant of sanity you had left. The world around you had seemed to fade into obscurity, your sight blurry and reduced to only one color: red. Vibrant red splattered everywhere, on the walls, and yourself but most of it was on the floor. In fact, the ground itself seemed to writhe beneath the weight of the corpses, as crimson rivers flowed freely, painting the concrete in shades of crimson that gleamed like freshly spilled paint.

“Oi! Listen to me!” Tommy’s powerful voice suddenly snatched you from your daze just enough time to catch your attention and plunge his turquoise iris into your Arctic eyes.

“I—I can’t. I can’t, I can’t...” You repeated in a whisper, just like a broken record, because your husband’s pulse was weakening again, blind to your exhausting and painful efforts. Arthur was dying, your baby was dying and the intensity of the pain you went through was so insufferable that all you wanted to do was curl up in a ball and wait for death to make this nightmare stop.

Tommy rapidly shifted his body to be by your side, his sharp eyes focused, but softer than usual. “You’ve got this,” he whispered, meeting your panicked gaze. “Keep going. Don’t stop.” He pressed his hand firmly over yours, steadying the trembling fingers that worked to save his brother. His voice was low, gravelly, but laced with a quiet strength he tried to share with you. His grip was warm, grounding you in the chaos, his presence like an anchor. At that moment, the weight of the world felt momentarily lighter with him by your side. You replied to his help with a muffled sob.

"You've got this!" Tommy tried to keep you from falling apart but the sight of a thin trickle of blood slowly running down your nose worried him almost to death. He looked at you and he knew. He knew that you had given everything – every ounce of your energy to save his brother, your magic now drained. Your hand trembled, still pressed to Arthur’s chest, but the world around you was seriously fading to black.

Caught amid this Hell with Tommy by your side, you didn't hear nor feel Polly, who had found the crime scene.

"Oh lord please help us, oh Lord, oh Lord..." Polly cried, horrified by the bloodbath as well as by the sight of you clinging to Arthur's limp body. She had already lost one of her nephews and couldn't bear the weight of losing another one. Not her sweet Arthur. Not him,

"We're fucking losing her too!" Tommy exclaimed, "fucking help me!"

"Heaven!" She called, grabbing your shoulder and shaking you but all you did was scream one last time. A haunting and otherworldly wail that pierced the darkness. A sound so agonizing and inhumane that it seemed to tear at the very fabric of existence. It echoed across the building, carrying with it the weight indescribable of sorrow and despair as your arms tightened your grip around your dying husband.

The smell of blood hid Tommy's musky perfume that was tingling your nostrils. The deafening ringing in your ears covered Polly and her nephew's voice. Your breaths came shallow and weak, your body becoming heavier as darkness crept in. Slowly, your eyes fluttered shut. In one final movement, you collapsed beside your husband, your last thought a silent hope that he would live.

Or that you would at least die trying to save him.

✞ Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language. gif by the wonderful @alicent-targaryen.

✞ Taglist: @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @woofgocows @anathemasworld @anastasia000 @kate654 @kxnnxy @babayaga67 @meowtastick @shelbyssins @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @bluevenus19 @raincoffeeandfandoms @kishie8 @zablife @alexandra-001 @alexizodd @helen06dreamer @kmc1989 @peakyswritings @peakyltd @chaosinkest1996 @vanhelsingsbigtoe @cherubswhispers @lokigirlszendaya @justrainandcoffee @mischievouslittlecreature

[sebastianlynx]

peaky blinders has the most beautiful cinematography

[wonderlanddreamer]

The Rook

— Chapter One

Summary: Reeling from a recent loss and seeing no light at the end of the tunnel, Tommy drives with no end in sight. But what happens when he accidentally happens upon a quiet little pub and a barmaid with a smile like sunshine?

The biting wind whipped at Tommy Shelby’s coat, offering little protection against the icy despair that gnawed at his soul. Birmingham, usually a city pulsating with his ambition, felt suffocating. The weight of his decisions, the ghosts of his past, pressed down with the force of a collapsing mine shaft. He’d stared into the abyss, and it had stared back, promising oblivion – a welcome respite from the ceaseless turmoil.

He’d almost taken it. Almost yielded to the seductive whisper of darkness. The pistol, cold and heavy in his pocket, was a dreary reminder of how close he’d come. He’d driven aimlessly until the city lights faded, replaced by the inky blackness of the countryside.

Then, a single, flickering light emerged – a small, unassuming pub nestled beside a winding road. Its sign, barely visible in the gloom, read: The Rook. Curiosity, or perhaps a perverse instinct for self-preservation, compelled him to stop.

The building was low-slung and weathered, its stone walls stained by time. Mismatched window panes, steamed with condensation, hinted at warmth within, a contrast to the chill that permeated his bones. He hesitated, his hand instinctively resting on the pistol. The thought of seeking solace, of finding even a fleeting moment of peace, felt anomalous.

But bone-deep weariness, the crushing weight of his burdens, finally won. He pushed open the heavy oak door, the bell above it jingling a discordant welcome. The air inside was thick with the scent of stale beer, wood smoke, and something else… something indefinitely comforting.

A single barmaid, wiping down the counter with an expert hand, looked up. Rosemary King, with warm brown eyes and a kind smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes, her name was embroidered on her apron in faded script. The bar itself was a rich, dark wood, polished to a high sheen, but cluttered with personal touches – a small vase of wildflowers, a framed sepia photograph weighted down by a miniature porcelain cat. Everything felt carefully tended, cherished, and loved.

The pub itself was small, cosy, radiating warmth and a sense of belonging. Mismatched chairs, some worn leather, others sturdy wood, were grouped around small, round tables, each bearing a unique chipped teacup or a faded photograph tucked into a cracked frame. The walls, painted a comforting cream, were adorned with family portraits – generations of smiling faces peering down from faded frames, a tapestry of lives lived and loved within these walls. A grandfather clock in the corner, its pendulum swinging rhythmically, ticked away the seconds. The scent wasn't just of woodsmoke and damp earth; a hint of baking bread and something sweet, perhaps apple pie, also lingered, enhancing the homely atmosphere. It felt less like a public house and more like a haven; a family's carefully kept secret.

Tommy pulled up a stool at the bar, the worn leather surprisingly soft beneath him, and stared straight forwards. He didn’t order anything, just sat, lost in the shadowy depths of his own thoughts, the warmth of the fire a meagre counterpoint to the storm raging within him.

“Evening,” the barmaid greeted, her voice as welcoming as her smile. “What can I get for you?”

“Whiskey. Neat,” Tommy replied gruffly, his tone sharper than intended. He wasn’t here for pleasantries.

She didn’t flinch at his brusqueness. Instead, she nodded and turned to retrieve a glass, her movements graceful and unhurried. “Coming right up,” she said, pouring the amber liquid with an expert hand. As she slid the glass towards him, she added, “Not many find their way to The Rook. You must be looking for some solace.”

Her perceptiveness startled Tommy. It was as if she saw right through the hardened exterior he wore like armour. “Something like that,” he muttered, taking a sip of the whiskey. It burned, but it was a welcome sensation—a reminder that he was still here, still feeling, despite the darkness that lingered at the edges of his mind.

Rosemary leaned against the bar, her demeanour open and unassuming, exuding a warmth that seemed to soften the sharp edges of the world. “Well, you’ve come to the right place. We’re not much for noise around here.”

For reasons he couldn’t quite grasp, Tommy found himself unwinding, if only slightly. Her presence was soothing, a gentle balm on his troubled mind. She seemed to offer a refuge, however temporary, from the turmoil within. “You been here long?” he asked, more to keep the conversation going than out of genuine curiosity.

“Long enough to know the regulars and their stories,” she replied with a soft laugh. “But you’re new. What’s your story?”

He looked at her, really looked at her, and saw no judgement in her gaze—only an earnest interest that was both unnerving and oddly comforting. In her eyes, he saw a flicker of understanding, as if she recognized the weight he carried. “Just passing through,” he said, deflecting, as was his habit.

“Well, Mr. Passing Through, I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for,” Rosemary said, a hint of playfulness in her tone. There was no pressure in her words, only a gentle encouragement, as if she truly wished for his peace. She straightened up and moved to attend to another customer, leaving Tommy alone with his thoughts and the unexpected warmth of her smile lingering in the air.

He sat for a long while, nursing his whiskey, the silence of The Rook a balm to his turbulent thoughts. Rosemary had checked on him twice, her kind smile a silent reassurance. He hadn't spoken much, but her presence, her quiet efficiency, had woven a thread of calm through the chaos within him. He couldn't articulate why, only that the pub's warmth had invaded him, a welcome intrusion he knew he'd need regularly.

He pushed himself up from his chair, the worn leather creaking a soft protest. He felt…lighter. The weight hadn’t vanished entirely, the ghosts of his past still whispered, but their voices were muted, dulled by the warmth he’d found within those four walls. The pistol, still heavy in his pocket, felt less like a solution and more like a forgotten burden.

He approached the bar, and Rosemary looked up, her brown eyes questioning. He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, the gesture acknowledging her unspoken kindness. He placed a couple of shillings on the counter, more than the drink cost.

"Thank you," he rasped, his voice rough from disuse.

Rosemary smiled, a genuine, heartfelt smile that effortlessly reached her eyes. "Anytime."

Tommy stepped back out into the night, the cold air no longer biting, but bracing. The city lights in the distance no longer felt suffocating, but beckoned. He walked to his car, the decision to go home solidifying with each step. The Rook, and the unexpected peace he’d found there, had given him the strength he so desperately needed. He wasn't cured, not by a long shot, but the abyss had receded, at least for now, replaced by a faint, flickering hope. The drive home was quiet, the night a canvas of unshed shadows. He would face his problems; for tonight, home was enough.

[shion-ah]

Death of me

Cillian Murphy as Thomas Fucking Shelby

"Do you honestly think I could ever forget?"

Hayley Atwell as Katherine Redwine

"Christ...just tell him or I will."

Annabelle Wallis as Grace Burgess

"Is that jealousy I hear?"

Joe Cole as John Shelby

"You'll always be a Shelby never get that."

Paul Anderson as Arthur Shelby

"Don't worry luv, we got you. Who do I gotta kill?"

Sophie Rundle as Ada Shelby

"You've always been there for me, of course I'll be here for you."

Helen McCrory as Polly Grey

"Us women are smarter. Now chin up, we have a job to do."

Chapter One

The air of Small Heath seemed to have a way of sticking to your skin or clothing. It left you feeling almost sticky and sweaty from the grim that would collect no matter how careful you chose to be. The people had grown used to such things and one could never be too precious about their clothing. Children seemed to run wild with their dogs and friends, men in the factories returning home covered in soot and the women trying to keep their homes cleaned to the best of their ability. Katherine Redwine had been brought up on Watery Lane and in her young mind, she believed that this was always going to be the case. “Kat, are you listening?” The annoyed voice of Ada rang through her ears pulling her attention away from the window. “Yes, of course. You were saying?” Katherine gave her friend a smile and lifted her cup of tea to her lips. It was rare that the two girls got moments like this and she didn’t mean to waste her time lost in the clouds. Ada watched Katherine with a sad smile of her own. Since the war Katherine hadn’t been the same, which she supposed was the common saying amongst the rest of the world. “I was saying that I think it is time that we get you back out there. You are a beautiful girl and I know anyone would be lucky to have you.” Ada leaned forward in her chair and crossed her ankles. “He wouldn’t want you to live like this. Pat-” “I’m alright I promise, I am just not ready. There’s still too much to do right now.” It wasn’t a complete lie. Since the men had come back home it had been a hard adjustment for her. First her brother had been killed and the man she had loved for most of her life had simply turned his back and had barely spoken a full sentence to her. And now that same man seemed to have found more trouble as if he had been fishing for it. Katherine shook her head placing the cup down back on the table giving the young Shelby woman’s hand a small squeeze. “But in the meantime I look forward to hearing all about how sweet and kind Freddie is.” At the mention of Freddie Thorne, Ada's cheeks began to flush, the usual reaction when the man was pulled into the conversation or whenever Ada told her friend of the latest escapades the two had gotten into. Katherine watched as Ada continued to talk about how much she loved Freddie and the latest times they had to meet up in secret, the forbidden romance felt like a dream she had had once. She had been so young when she first met him but those blue eyes of Thomas Shelby would forever haunt her. She was sure she would die with the image of his eyes, his smile permanently imprinted into her thoughts. She had been so angry with him, the sting of her slap across his face still stung her hand when she thought about it for too long. Of course when she had heard of what he found she wanted to try to knock some sense into him. 

And now she had a sinking feeling in her gut that felt like it was growing larger and larger each time she tried to swallow. Leave it to the most clever man she knew to bring down the eye of the government, the IRA, and god knows who else by finding and taking those guns. 

Thomas fucking Shelby. 

Those words rang in her mind when her man had told her, they rang when she confronted Charlie Strong and Curly. And once she had left Ada making her way down the street and heard of his stunt with the Chinese in a show to gather more bets. Any time she had tried to tell Thomas that he was getting into things he had no business doing, he would tell her that it “wasn’t women’s business” and would drop it at that, leaving Katherine to stare at him in a mix of frustration and continued heartache. 

Katherine began to make her way to the Garrison pub for her usual one drink with Harry giving a small nod and smile to the people she passed and in return would gain her own “Mrs. Shelby” greeting. She had grown numb to the nickname and had given up on correcting those that continued to use it and she decided to see it as a type of shield. No one fucked with the Peaky Blinders and the Shelby name went a long way in Small Heath. If Thomas had taught her anything it was to appear as calm and unbothered as possible when inside you just want to shoot something, or rather someone.

“Welcome in my lady, your usual?” Harry said, placing a glass down on the bar once Katherine had entered. She made her way to the middle of the bar and took her usual seat. “Yes please, Harry.” Katherine gave the older man a kind smile and glanced about the pub. The usual bar flies were about four glasses in and only acknowledged her with a simple nod or not at all. “How have you been Harry? Haven’t been given any trouble have you?”

“None, miss. Mostly the occasional drunkard fight but it ends well enough.” Harry placed the Irish whiskey down for the Redwine and leaned on the bar top. “You look as if you need a good drink and a good sleep.” Katherine huffed a laughed at her friend’s words and shrugged taking a sip from the amber liquid. “Don’t I always look this way?” She teased tilting her head. She had always enjoyed Harry’s company; he was kind in his own way and cared for the Garrison like it should have been. This was home and he had taken care of her when she had gotten so drunk she hadn’t been able to stand and he made sure that she would never reach that low again. He had made Katherine promise to not lose herself in her grief or heartbreak. He had been the father figure that she needed after Patrick had been killed. 

“Kat, don’t bullshit me.” Harry shook his head. Katherine spun her glass slightly, his gentle but stern tone was comforting in a sense. It was the same tone he had when he found her in the private room that Thomas always used. She had broken down and cried in Harry’s arms and was more whiskey than person and she was sure her breath could have caused an explosion if she lit a match. Earlier that day they had held a service for Patrick and it had really hit her that he was gone, her big brother, her protector was nowhere to be found. Just like her Tommy, sweet happy Tommy who was able to light up a room with his smile and whose laugh was contagious seemed to have died the same night. Harry had listened as she cried and mourned the lives lost and dreams that were crushed but once she was done he picked her up and helped her upstairs and cleaned her up and put her to bed. He had banned anyone giving her any kind of alcohol in the Garrison until she was able to function. He would be damned if the sweet girl turned into one of the men he served. “I’m fine Harry, I promise.” Katherine was touched as he watched her but before he could comment the doors to the Garrison were pushed open as the one man who she couldn’t stand walked through in the most attention way he could have. 

Fucking Thomas. 

(It will get better I promise but let me know what you think!)

[shelbydelrey]

PREV.

2. MOTHER

“Ms. Shelby, there’s someone here to see you,” the secretary announced.

“Great, send them in,” Charlotte replied absent-mindedly; a decision that she would regret not even a minute later.

The visitor entered, revealing themselves to be a woman of high stature and dark hair.

“Lizzie,” The girl jumped out of her chair.

“Charlotte, how are you?”

The smallest of smiles appeared on the woman’s lips. Charlie glared at her brother, if in search of support or disapproval, and found him measuring the former Mrs. Shelby’s presence.

“Fine,” she responded, returning her attention to her stepmother. The first blow of surprise had subsided, “How are you?”

The other woman clasped her hands together.

“Worried. It is, in fact, the reason why i came to speak to you.”

“I’ll leave you two to it,” Duke declared. He got up and left but not before throwing Charlie a look that evoked his “Nothing good” sentiment from last friday. Lizzie paid him no mind, not when she arrived and not when he got out.

“What are you worried about?” she quizzed, suggesting with her hands that the woman should take a seat.

Sat, her stepmother wiggled her right leg while continuing to rub her hands together. 

“Charles.”

Charlie took a deep breath.

“In what sense?”

“He’s…” Lizzie sighed, “He’s different. Ever since he came back. He doesn’t talk to me, he doesn’t talk to Beth or anyone.”

Her voice trembled.

“And now Ada tells me he’s roaming around Small Heath.”

“Only to visit uncle Charlie,” the words jumped out of Charlotte before she could weigh them down, “He’s been at The Garrison too but he didn’t drink, i promise.”

Her hands curled into fists down the table. So apologetic. And what for? A man she didn’t even know?

“He’s your father’s son, Charlotte. When he came back from his war he brought hell with him.”

Her spine tensed.

“Aunt Ada won’t allow him to do anything. He’s welcome to work with her but illegitimate business is Duke’s.”

Only at the moment the glimmer of hope in Lizzie’s eyes died that Charlie noticed it was there to begin with and she watched as regret, not disappointment, took its place. A ball of heat lodged itself on her chest, stealing her breath, and the scorching fire expanded and expanded threatening to consume her whole. Charlotte knew. Charlotte knew that Lizzie never forgave her for rejecting her as a mother.

“If there was something Ada was never capable of doing was to control the men in her family,” Lizzie hammered down and rose from her seat.

Charlie closed her eyes while clenching her teeth. An idea, however, popped in her head.

“Wait!” 

Thankfully, Lizzie wasn’t out the door yet .

“I can talk to him.”

That’s what the woman’s presence meant, right? Mother, aunt and cousin couldn’t reach Charles but perhaps a sister could.

“I’ll drive some sense into him.”

Relief washed over Lizzie.

“Thank you.”

After the stepmother’s exit, exhausted, Charlie threw herself onto the chair.

The fourteen years hiatus since the last time she saw her brother would finally come to an end.

[heavencanbeaprisontoo]

The Sun and The Moon

(Prologue: Meeting By the Sea) Alfie Solomons x Shelby!OC

Summary: In early November of 1917, you are over a year into your service to the Crown as a volunteer nurse. Following a hollow victory, you make your acquaintance with one Alfie Solomons. WC: 3.1K Warnings: Mentions of war, death, g-re, v-mit, foul language, angst, psychological distress, etc.

November. 7, 1917.

You know you need to hurry. It's almost nightfall; you won’t have much light left to write in. Yet you cannot help but linger at the sight of today’s victory. Before you, there is an ocean. It is a vast sea of gray, thick, and cold. Unfeeling and joyless. An ocean of standing water, crumbling buildings, and miles upon miles of mud. The buildings once housed people, but now they resemble the ruins of a bygone era. A necropolis.

Rolling clouds of dirt and gunpowder float just above the ground like phantoms. It’s the only piece of this that reminds you anything of home. Beckoning to the fog and soot that rolled in the early mornings when you would walk with your brothers to Charlie’s yard. Behind you, white tents flap in the wind, and cloth clings to metal rods that hold the structure in place. A field hospital. The only taste of civilization left for miles.

Rings meant to fasten the flaps down rattle like windchimes against the winds. A sudden updraft carries the stench of decay from the trenches up to where you stand. You press a cloth into a small bottle of peppermint oil. Quickly, you put that cloth on your nose. One of the first things you learned after joining the VADs was to keep your feet dry and to have plenty of peppermint oil on hand. It wards off the smell of rot, both in the living and the dead. The first time you smelled it, you vomited. Now, you barely gag. Still holding the cloth to your nose, you turn back to the field hospital.

Your name is Maeve Shelby, and you are twenty-four.

It’s warmer inside the tents. Uncomfortably so. The warmth is from all the bodies; most lay about in cots; the rest are your fellow VADs and doctors. Humidity mixed with stagnant sweat and all the bed pans that ever come clean enough to be rid of acrid remnants. To save yourself from having to sit in the midst of it all, you set aside a chair for yourself at the mouth of the field hospital. It is a plain, simple wooden chair with one leg shorter than the other three. Beside it is a stack of empty ammunition boxes. You have a small lantern weighing down an unfinished letter. With a sigh, you sit down and resume your writing from earlier that day: 

Dearest Aunt Polly, Ada, and Finn ,

I know once my letter finds you that this will be well-known, but the Allies have finally claimed victory here in Ypres. The soldiers say we are nearly finished ousting the Germans from Passchendaele. Only a few remain. Too injured to retreat. It won’t be long before we can claim this as ours. Still, we have yet to celebrate. It’s strange. All these months we spent fighting, and this doesn’t feel like a victory. So many lives were lost. There are too many to even try to count.

My work keeps me busy, but it is at night when my mind is most busy. Even with the fighting stopped, it has been difficult to find the dead and the wounded. I do not know where these men will be put once they’re found. We have hardly any beds left to offer. I have taken to sleeping in a chair by the entry to the main tent. Partly to free a bed for those that need it, partly to keep an eye out for any soldiers still trying to make it back. 

For so long, all I’ve done is race from place to place. Now all I do is change bandages, sooth the restless, and listen for the wounded who remain stuck in the trenches. Those still well enough to fight are sent out to recover their comrades. It’s hard work. Idle bombs and lurking landmines are all still out there. Some men come back worse than they left.

I know that the boys aren’t out there, but still, I strain to listen for them. John, Arthur, and Tommy. In my dreams, I do hear them. Just as I know, you hear them in your dreams too, Polly. It makes me wake with such a fear in me that my feet carry me forward before I’m fully awake. I rush toward that ocean of muck and blood, and I stop only when my fingers pierce the earth; the feel of it under my fingernails brings back my senses for some reason. 

I wonder if all the victories we’ve won felt like this. I wonder if, when all is said and done, any of this will amount to anything at all. Does anyone remember why we’re even here? Who will take our bodies home if none of us survive?

“God,” you say, taking your pen and scratching out the last line. Then, you scratch out the last paragraph. You cross out line after line. They don’t need to read this. This madness. It was good of Ada to back out of volunteering. Not just because of this lonely sea of mud and blood, but for little Finn, too. With you and the three eldest men gone, someone needed to take care of him. Mom has been dead for almost five years now. Father may as well be dead; he felt like a ghost when he was home anyway. Aunt Polly was holding up “the business,” from what you could gleam from Ada’s letters back to you.

In the year you’ve spent out on the fields, you have yet to receive a letter from your brothers. Not that you blame them. All of you are on the move. What you know of their state comes from Ada, or Polly. Arthur and Tommy are together, which somewhat soothes you. You think of John often. He’s in France with Danny and Jeremiah. I think you joined so that you could look after your brothers. It’s been years since you’ve seen them in person. Who knows what state they may be in? There are men behind you who will never be whole. Broken bodies, shattered minds, and more scar tissue than flesh. Are your brothers as you remember them? You hate to linger on the thought.

You fold your ruined letter three times and rip it in half. The give-and-take of it feels good somehow. It reminds you of something you read once about children being destructive to gain some form of control. You can’t control how long this war lasts, when you can come home, what home you return to, or what state you find your brothers in, but you can control this paper. So, you rip it again. And again. Each tear becomes more jagged and childish. You throw up your hands, and the bits of paper fly away in the cold November winds.

‘Snow from Birmingham to Belgium,’ you crack a small smile.

You once dreamed of journeying across Europe. It was a lovely fantasy filled with long train rides and French pastries. Winking at handsome strangers while hiding your smile behind a lacy white glove. Now, you feel like you’ve seen too much of it. When all this fighting is over, maybe you’ll take a holiday to Margate. Clean your memory with a long look at an ocean of water instead of this hellscape.

“Shelby!” Your head turns sharply to see Nurse Burgess charging towards you. Her round face was blotchy as always, her thin lips drawn down in a harsh frown. “Miss Shelby, you are needed in the back.”

Tucking your scented hanky back into your apron, you ask, “Is someone in throes?” Some men, in the throes of despair, couldn’t always tell the difference between a nurse and a German soldier.

Her meaty hand takes you by the upper arm and says, “No, I need you to keep an eye on someone.” Nurse Burgess drags you through the maze of malaise swiftly, despite the growing night. The nurses have navigated this place in near darkness many times now. You could probably make it from one end to the other, blindfolded. Tonight, the field hospital was quiet aside from the moaning. Nurse Burgess guides you deeper inside the field hospital with a hoarse, “It’s Captain Solomons; that bastard won’t lay still, and I haven’t the time to keep on him.”

You try to keep your voice low as soldiers in their cots roll over to follow you and Nurse Burgess’ mad dash. “Captain Solomons? I thought he was sedated, heavily!”

Nurse Burgess, on the other hand, has no such qualms. She hollers, “That man is a bloody bear. We keep trying to give him more, and he shoos us off. Now, he won’t stop trying to get out of his cot... with a blown-out leg!” Two soldiers sat on their cots with a barrel between them. They played cards under the glow of a flickering candle on their shared nightstand. As you passed, they snickered.

“I can’t imagine he would be able to move much; Doctor Gill said he nearly lost that leg,” you noted wearily. Burgess was nearly done with her escorting or you; the back of the tent was not far off. You stepped over a pool of what could have been rainwater, bile, or piss. There is no point in stopping to check.

At the back of the field hospital lay two specific sorts of patients. Those who could not move and those who absolutely should not move. Captain Solomons was in the former category. Days ago, he sustained a bullet to his shin that nearly shattered it. He had been under strict orders, and a heavy dose of sedatives, to stay right where he was. Each cot in this back section has its own privacy curtain. When you first joined, you thought it was for the nurses to sleep and change in. The other nurses had a good laugh about that. When she comes upon Captain Solomons’ curtain, Nurse Burgess lets you go. S yanks back the curtain, shielding the Captain from view, and lets out a deep grunt.

You peer around her shoulder and sigh. The captain sits on the thin cot with a sterile sheet pushed down to his legs. His back is raised from the metal headboard, and he has his body turned with his good foot nearly touching the ground. Still on the bed rests his wounded leg. It lays at a stiff, awkward angle. You know he must at least be aware of its precarious state. In the dark, it’s difficult to make out all of his features.

“Captain!”

He’s a big man, with broad shoulders and heavy muscle on his back and arms. You can see it pushing against his long-sleeved undershirt. What strikes you most about him is not his mass or his leg, but his grin. His cheeky, cheeky grin.

Captain Solomons keeps on that grin as he says, “Hm, it appears I have been caught, right?” His accent is thick. You know very little about Captain Solomons aside from the most basic of details. You know he’s from London, you know that he’s Jewish, and you know that he can be difficult. The Captain’s tone remains glib as he remarks, “And you brought a friend, ‘ello there.”

“You are to be resting, Captain Solomons!” Based on her tone, you can imagine Nurse Burgess is turning purple about now. Captain Solomons gives her a boyish shrug and stays upright in his cot. That alone makes Nurse Burgess turn to you and hiss and say, “Keep him here so he doesn’t rip his bloody stitches, understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” you hum. She leaves you there in the parted curtains with Captain Solomons. He regards you for a moment, then restarts his attempt at standing. You let out a sigh and hurry to him before he gains enough traction to hurt himself. Placing your hands on his shoulders, you try to ease him back into his crib. “Captain, you really must follow the doctor’s instructions.” You feel him push against your palms.

“Fuck the doctors; pardon my verbiage, but I’m about to go mad lying about this miserable lump you call a bed,” he says, putting his hands around your wrists. You are taken aback by how easily his hand wraps around your wrist. If he wanted to, it wouldn’t be terribly difficult to just shove you aside. “I need to take a walk.”

Politeness doesn’t seem to work on him, nor does roughness. While you weren’t tough like John or ruthless like Arthur, you were clever with people. You could get a sense of how someone’s mind ticked quickly. You hoped you could catch on about Captain Solomons too. “And when your stitches rip and you’ve lost your leg, what cot would you like me to move you to?”

He stops pushing against you. His chest is still heaving, and his hot breath fans your cheeks. You swallowed thickly; you really underestimated how close you were to him. This is a is a big, big man. One who had rumors of a violent temper that took very little to agitate.

“You have been injured and are lucky to be alive. And you still have all your parts, Captain. Why are you risking that just to go on a fucking walk?” He stares you down with a furrowed brow. For a moment, you worry you’ve poked the bear a bit too hard. “If you refuse to take the doctors seriously, what do you think the men who answer to you will do? They’ll all be trying to walk about despite their pain and end up injuring themselves for pride.”

Solomons puts you at ease when he sits back on the cot, releasing your wrists. “I can’t just lay about like this. I’ll lose the rest of my marbles waiting around for those doctors to get these stitches out. There’s not a single thing a man can do to occupy his mind in this place. It smells of piss, rot, and pus. If they would give me back my knife, right? I could cut out a little window in this tarp behind me and get a whiff of fresh air. But they won’t. Where’s the respect, hm?”

You cross your arms and ask, “So, you’re bored?”

He stiffens. Oh, you hit the nail right on the head with that one. You can’t exactly blame him. The longer you stand still, the faster all your fears catch up with you. All those ugly things you’ve seen and heard find you. That’s why the soldiers play cards and the nurses trade that single copy of ‘Frankenstein’ and ‘A Room with a View’ back and forth. Distraction. “If you can stay still where you are, I can try to get a book or a deck of cards. Would you like that?”

With a sweeping gesture to the darkness, he says, “Can’t exactly read a page or play a hand in the dark, now can we love?”

Shaking your head at his childish attempts at derailing your little plan, you take out a matchbox from your apron. With your last matchstick, you bring life to a lantern by his bed. You turn to face him, a warm orange light reflecting on your face. In the dim lighting offered by the lantern, you can see the Captain’s face. He’s young for a man of his rank. And handsome, you can admit as much in your own mind. His eyes are bright, and his features are deeply masculine. A hard jawline with a prominent brow and pouty lips. Most soldiers, regardless of rank, are required to be clean-shaven. This is not true for Captain Solomons. He has a well-maintained moustache and beard, cut close to his jawline. You heard from somewhere that Solomons was an exception due to his faith or his demeanor. Captain Solomons is looking up at you, too. His expression was all aglow. Bright gray eyes stare at your face. Confused almost as they regard you.

“Do we have a deal, Captain?”

He’s still staring at you, his brow furrowed as he studies your face. Finally, he says, “If you can get ‘Frankenstein,’ I’ll stay put. That’s a piece of fiction I can sit with for a good bit of time.”

You beam at him and take the chance to push his healthy leg under his blanket. Solomons grumbles, “Easy now, easy. I’m injured, remember?” He allows you to gently move him safely into his cot.

Finding the nurse who had taken possession of the book was no easy task, but she was quick to give it to you when you informed her a captain had asked for it. When you came back with the book, Solomons was still in bed. You thanked a God you no longer believed in and handed him the book. Just as you attempted to leave, Captain Solomons made an admission: “My eyes, yeah, they don’t pinch up the written word so easy these days. If there’s not a grisly scene out there for you to attend to, might you do me the service of reading this aloud for me?”

For a moment, you think about refusing. You never know when you’ll be called away. But then again, you’re the one who came up with the idea to get him a distraction anyway. Settling down at the edge of his bed, you take the book from his hand and begin to read. Captain Solomons leans back against the metal headboard, listening to you begin reading the preface. What you didn’t know was that this was the start of a near-nightly ritual. Captain Solomons would attempt to slink out of bed to go'stretch his leg(s)’ until you would rush over to distract him with another book or game of cards. He became a welcome distraction for you as well. A friend, almost. Perhaps more than that, if the way he kissed you one cold night in late November told you anything.

His lips were as soft as they looked. 

Whether it was friendship or not, it lasted for about a month. Captain Solomons and his men were removed from the area for transport to the west. You and your fellow VADs would go north. He didn’t stop to say goodbye to you, which bothered you. The morning after he kissed you was the day you found out about the move. And he was already gone.

In one year and three days, the war would be over. You would return home to find that all your brothers had survived. But they weren’t quite themselves anymore, and neither were you.

[prettybillycore]

"For Tommy" Series Masterlist

UPDATED: 5/14/24

Pairing(s): Thomas Shelby x Original Character

Universe: Peaky Blinders

Summary: Veela and Seer- a powerful combination of traits for one person to have. Edith Lillian Scamander falls in love with a young Thomas Shelby while working in a nurse’s ward during WWI. Will her feelings be requited, or will she be doomed to pine over the man of her dreams for eternity hopelessly?

Rating: Teen ✦ prologue | Your sister, Edith Lillian ✦ letter #1 | Yours, Thomas Shelby ✦ ONE ✦ letter #2 | All My Love, Lilli Scamander ✦ letter #3 | Sincerely, Your Peaky Blinder ✦ TWO ✦ letter #4 | Farewell, Edith Lillian ✦ letter #5 | Much Love and Hope, Edith Lillian ✦ THREE ✦ letter #6 | All My Love, Thomas Shelby ✦ letter #7 | Tread lightly, Newt

Read it on AO3 //

[evita-shelby]

Snake in the Grass

noun 1: a treacherous person, especially one who feigns friendship. 2: a concealed danger.

--Dictionary.com

thanks @mischievouslittlecreature for sending that ask 🖤

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Part 24: Dirty Little Secret

Summary: After so much recent hardship, Tommy just wants to do something nice for his lover.

Word Count: 3,239

Warnings: Polyamory, sexual content, and references to past torture.

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Ada frowned as she walked into Tommy’s office in Arrow House and was greeted with the sight of her brother hunched over his desk. His hands were cradling the back of his skull, running back and forth over his dark hair. 

“Tommy?”

He looked up, eyes tired behind his glasses as they blinked at her. “Ada. Hi. Did you just get in?”

“Yeah.” She took a step deeper into his workspace, closing the door behind her and moving towards one of the chairs in front of his desk. “Are you alright?”

“Mhm,” he just grunted, tossing a stack of papers aside as if they had personally offended him.

“I brought you the keys you had mailed to my house.” Reaching into her bag, she pulled out the little parcel to hand over to him. Tommy thumbed it open, examined its contents, and tucked it away into his inner pocket. 

“Thank you.”

“I still don’t understand why you didn’t just have them sent here.”

“I didn’t want to risk Lizzie opening them.”

Ada raised an eyebrow. “You still haven’t told her?”

He shook his head.

“Why not?”

“Because either she’s in a godawful mood that I don’t want to make worse, or she’s in a decent mood that I don’t want to spoil,” he sighed, the weight of the world seemingly on his shoulders. “I’ll tell her soon. No way I can really keep it a secret for much longer, now can I?”

“You really think she’ll be upset over it?”

“She’s upset by most things, these days.”

“I’m sorry.” There really wasn’t much more that she could say. She had tried once–gently, she thought–to discuss the situation with Lizzie. But Lizzie didn’t want to speak of it. Glancing around the room, she frowned again at a notable absence. 

“Is Lucy around?”

Tommy sighed, lighting a cigarette and expelling a plume of smoke into the air. “She took the dogs out for a walk around the grounds. To clear her head.”

“Clear her head from what?” When Tommy didn’t answer right away, Ada’s eyes narrowed. “What did you do?”

Tommy let out an offended sound. “Why do you immediately assume it was me!?” At her look, he huffed, shoulders slouching in defeat. “It’s nothing, really. We’re fine. I just…”

Ada cocked her head, curious. Tommy and Lucy didn’t argue often. “Just what?”

He fiddled a little with his cigarette, not fully meeting her eyes. “I just have been wanting to do something nice for her. Things have been so…tumultuous lately. And I…worry sometimes. About the effect that this has all had on her.” His eyes lingered on the golden wedding ring on his left hand disdainfully. “I suggested that maybe we go out to dinner or something. She… didn’t think that it would be a good idea.”

“Because you could be seen together,” Ada concluded. She couldn’t argue with Lucy’s logic there. All it took was one reporter with a camera, one gossip spotting them out together in an environment that couldn’t be interpreted as professional, and people would begin to whisper. More than they already were. Frankly, she was somewhat surprised that her brother would even suggest something so likely to end with them getting caught. “She’s not wrong about it being a bad idea.”

Tommy nodded. “I know.” Ada was struck by the sad look that entered his eyes. “I just wanted to do something nice for her.” The quietness of his voice tugged on her heartstrings. 

“Maybe you could…I mean, there are places for this sort of thing, right? Clubs or pubs that politicians take their mistresses too…”

“Yeah. We went to one once.” 

“You didn’t like it?” Ada was surprised at the edge of disdainfulness in his voice. 

“I don’t want to take Lucy to places like that. It makes what we are seem seedy and cheap. Most men there don’t care about the women they’re with at all.” He tapped ash from his cigarette into the circular crystal tray perched on the edge of his desk. “I could tell that Luce didn’t really like it. I think it made her feel…” he cringed, and Ada saw his throat flex. “Like she’s just my dirty little secret.”

“She is, technically.”

“I don’t want her to feel like that. I don’t want her to ever think that she’s just a thing that I take out to play with because I’m bored or because my wife isn’t speaking to me.”

He really loves her. Ada had known it since she’d come to stay at the house after Grace died. She’d watched the way that they were with each other. Had a front row seat to just how important Lucy was in keeping Tommy stable. And vice versa. But it was good to have proof that his devotion to her was just as strong as it had always been. She had wondered, if only a little, if after the wedding to Lizzie if things would change. 

She should have known better than to think that rings and a marriage license could have any impact on Tommy’s love for his redhead. 

“I suggested that she pick out somewhere to go. Just the two of us. For a short little week-long holiday or something. Since she didn’t get to come on the honeymoon. But every time I try to bring it up, she dodges the conversation.” He looked at her, and Ada was struck at how lost he suddenly sounded. “What am I doing wrong, Ada?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know, Tom. This whole situation…it was never going to be easy.”

“I know.” His fingers turned his cigarette over and over. “She deserves better. They both do.”

“She loves you.”

“Yeah. Fuck knows why.” His gaze lowered to the floor. “She used to smile a lot more.”

“That doesn’t necessarily have to do with you. It hasn’t really been that long since Luca. She’s still recovering from what he did to her.”

He exhaled heavily. “I know.” 

Ada looked at him worriedly. He hadn’t even been married a year to Lizzie, and yet the whole arrangement had already taken its toll on him as well. 

She silently cursed Polly for putting so much pressure on them all to go through with the marriage. She and her aunt often agreed, but not on this.

If they weren’t careful, this whole mess was going to destroy all three of them. 

“Maybe…” she wracked her brain for something, however small, to help him. “Is there still a vardo at Charlie’s?”

Tommy’s brows furrowed. “I think so.”

“You could take her out on that. Even if just for a night or two. Pack a picnic. Find a nice spot out in the wild away from the city. Just you two and the horses and the clean air. At the very least getting out of the city for a while might help.”

She could see the cogs starting to turn in his head, her idea serving to jumpstart his brain into fitting together a solution. “Yeah…yeah that could work.”

“And you have the new apartment now.”

“Yeah. It’ll be good to have a space that’s just ours.” Where we can get away from my bitter wife when we need to, hung silently in the air. He looked at her, expression bashful. Or at least as bashful as she was pretty sure her brother was capable of looking. “Thank you.”

“Of course. Can’t have you two splitting up. She’s what makes you bearable to be around.”

“Oi!”

She grinned to let him know she was just teasing–mostly. Tommy rolled his eyes exasperatedly. Giggling, Ada leaned forward, swiping the stack of papers he’d tossed aside so disdainfully when she first came in. To see if there was anything else that she could help him with before she needed to be heading home. 

∗ ∗ ∗

“Tommy, what–” 

“Shush. It’s a surprise.”

Lucy let out a bewildered laugh, nose scrunching under the blindfold he’d tied over her eyes. Beneath them, she could feel Wraith moving at a quick trot before slowing to an amble walk. Tommy held the reins firmly in one hand, the other settling on her waist to help her keep her balance. 

“Right.” The horse drew to a sudden stop. “Here.” She felt Tommy dismount, his hand then taking hold of hers. “I gotcha.” 

She huffed, other hand snatching at him until he took it and brought it to rest on his strong shoulder to keep her stable. Letting him help maneuver her to the ground, she pouted when his touch briefly pulled away.

“Thomas, if you ditch me alone in the middle of the woods I swear–”

“I’m not ditching you!” he laughed, voice suddenly coming from behind her. “I just needed to grab something.” His hands landed on her shoulders. “Right. Just walk forward.”

“Don’t let me trip on anything.”

“I won’t.”

She pressed her smiling lips together, letting him guide her. When he’d pulled out the blindfold halfway through their ride through the woods, she’d been hesitant. The last time she’d been blindfolded hadn’t exactly been a pleasant experience. But he hadn’t pushed her, and it was Tommy, so she agreed. He must have sensed her apprehension, because from the moment the blindfold went on, he was mumbling jokes into her ear, hands continually smoothing gentle touches across her body to make sure she knew that she was safe. 

“Stop here,” Tommy said, bringing her to a halt. “Right. One second.” He pressed a quick kiss to the side of her neck, nose grazing against her in a way that made her giggle. She could hear him rustling about, and the sound of what she was pretty sure was the click of his lighter, and then he was pressed to her back once more. “Okay.” His fingers fumbled with the knot in the blindfold at the back of her head. And then the scrap of fabric was pulled away, and she was left blinking and squinting against the sudden bright orange glow of the setting sun. 

They were standing in the same field that they so often rode their horses out to when they needed to get away from the city. The place where he had taken her shortly after hiring her as his assistant. They were standing under the same tree that they had sat beneath that day, its thickly leaved branches stretching high towards the sky. A small lake shimmered with the glow of the sunset, a family of ducks gliding peacefully across it. 

Arranged under the tree before her, there was a checkered blanket stretched out across the ground. A wooden crate served as a table in the middle of the blanket, a picnic basket filled with fruits and bread and cheese placed atop it, alongside a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. Lit candles surrounded the entire spread of food and drink, their flames seeming to grow brighter in the dying light of the sun. Just out of the shade of the tree, a vardo stood, with what looked to be blankets and pillows piled inside. 

Her lips parted, heart stuttering at how deeply romantic the whole display was. She turned her eyes to Tommy, finding him gaging her reaction with an anxious expression on his face. 

“What is all this?”

He shrugged. “Well, you didn’t want to go to a public restaurant, so…”

Taking a step forward, she cradled his face in her hands, kissing him softly. He held her lightly by the back, mouth moving against hers softly. 

“You didn’t have to,” she said after they’d parted. Tommy’s eyes softened. 

“I wanted to.” Reaching down, he took hold of her hand, drawing her with him over to the picnic blanket. 

“How did you do all this?” she asked as she let him guide her to sit down. He settled in beside her, close enough that their sides were touching. 

“Johnny Dogs and Ada helped me get it all set up.” He adjusted them so that they were sitting with her propped up against his chest, his legs stretched out as she reached for the picnic basket to see what he’d packed for them. 

As the sun sank lower and lower beneath the horizon, they ate and chatted and laughed. For the first time in a long while, Lucy felt lighter. More relaxed.

That was until she moved her head from where it was resting on Tommy’s chest to look at the trunk of the tree. Imprinted into the dark wood was the scar of two letters, stacked vertically on top of one another and connected by an ampersand between them: T & L. 

She remembered when they’d carved them into the tree. Tommy’s grin was mischievous as he pulled out his pocket knife and crouched by the trunk, turning his face to kiss her nose and forehead every once in a while as he etched their initials into the wood as she watched from over his shoulder. 

T & L. Tommy and Lucy. 

Or Tommy and Lizzie.

She swallowed hard. Once he grew tired of her and decided to get rid of her, she wondered if he would bring Lizzie here. 

Just swap one L for another. It would be easy.

Tommy must have felt her stiffen in his arms, because he raised his face from where it had been resting in the crook of her neck to follow her gaze. He looked from the tree to her, eyes narrowing as he read her mind. Reaching into his pocket, he pecked a kiss to her temple and pulled away, sitting up by the tree. His pocket knife clicked open in his palm. 

With one hand resting against the trunk, he started to carve with careful flicks of his wrist. Little chunks and flecks of wood fell in a dusting to rest at the base of the trunk. Lucy watched curiously over his shoulder, lip caught between her teeth. When he was done with the names, he started to work on engraving the curves of a shape around them. 

Once he was done, he leaned back, closing the pocket knife and tucking it away. His arms wrapped around her once more, pulling her into his chest as they both examined his handiwork. 

Tommy & Lucy, the carving now read. With a heart encircling them. 

“You aren’t replaceable,” Tommy said, kissing the top of her head and squeezing her. Lucy felt tears prick at the edges of her eyes.

“I can’t help but feel, every time that we’re together, that it should be her with you instead of me.”

Tommy shook his head furiously. “I don’t want her, I want you. If it was her here with me instead of you…I’d be enjoying myself a whole lot less.”

Lucy trailed her fingers along one of the forearms wrapped around her. “I know.” Deep down, she knew what he said was true. It was just hard sometimes to convince the rest of her brain of it. “I’m sorry. I know that I’ve been gloomy and unfun lately. I’m trying not to be–”

“I don’t want you to pretend that you’re fine when you aren’t. I just want you to talk to me.” He nuzzled at her hair. “I know that this is all hard. I want to help you, sweetheart.”

Turning over to face him, she raised both hands to his cheeks. “I know. Thank you, love. I know you’re trying.”

“I miss being able to love you openly.”

She felt her lips pout with the desire to cry. “Me too.”

He engulfed her tightly into his arms. Lucy buried her face in his shoulder, breathing out harshly as she closed her eyes. Tommy rubbed her back, face dropping into her hair. 

“You’re the most important person in my life,” he rasped. “You’re not just something I keep on the side. With Lizzie it’s all charades.” He stroked her hair, took hold of one of her hands and rested it over his heart. “This is real. You and me. Don’t ever think otherwise. Eh?” 

Lucy let out a quiet sob. “Tommy…”

His forehead rested on hers, thumbs brushing away her tears. “We’ll get through this.”

“Promise me,” she begged. His hands rested on her back, urging her closer to him. “Promise me, Tommy.”

“I promise we’ll get through this.”

“Don’t ever leave me.”

His grip on her tightened. “Never. I swear. I’ll never leave you. Nothing on earth could ever make me.”

She nodded, exhaling shakily. Tilting her face slightly, she kissed him. Tommy’s lips parted, kissing her back deeply and passionately until they both ran out of air and had to break apart. 

“I love you,” she said. Tommy hugged her to him again, lips finding her hairline while his biceps gave her a big squeeze. 

“I love you too.”

“Thank you for all of this.” Her voice was a little muffled by the fabric of his coat. “It was nice.”

“Good. I’m glad you enjoyed it, sweetheart.” She felt his cheek settle atop her head. “I thought that we’d stay out in the vardo tonight.”

“I’d like that.”

“I have something else for you.”

She leaned back to look at him, arms still looped around his waist. “You do?”

“Mhm.” Nodding, he reached into his inner pocket, pulling out a small, gift wrapped box. Lucy raised an eyebrow as she took it from him. She could feel his gaze lingering on her as she tore open the paper. He seemed incapable of keeping from touching her, raising a hand to rest on the middle of her back, thumb moving up and down. 

She flicked open the box, and was met with a bronze little key. Picking it up, she examined the pattern on it, eyes darting up to Tommy where he was still watching her, a not entirely suppressed smile dancing on his lips. 

“Is this what I think it is?”

Tommy nodded, and Lucy felt her face light up with excitement. 

“When did you–?” They had talked about getting a flat in London. Somewhere to go on the occasion that they ended up working late at the House of Commons–something that was turning out to be an extremely common occurrence–and for when they needed a break from Lizzie. They’d even gone looking at some places. But things had been so busy, they hadn’t been able to actually pull the trigger on purchasing a place yet. 

“It’s the one that you liked that’s a few blocks away from the office.”

Her eyes widened. “The penthouse?”

Tommy smiled, nodding. “Mhm.”

She flung her arms around him, peppering a few kisses against the side of his face and making him laugh as he caught her against him. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she whispered. He chuckled, squeezing her against him and turning his face to catch her lips in a kiss.

“We can go see it tomorrow,” he said, after they parted. Lucy beamed as he caressed her face. 

“Okay.”

He nestled his face into her neck, starting to place soft kisses there. “Are you done eating?”

She cast a look at the mostly empty picnic basket. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Good.” His hands landed on her thighs, pulling her with a strong flex of muscle into his lap. “C’mere.”

She squeaked then laughed as he scooped her up onto his hips and stood, mouth moving hungrily to meet hers as he carried her in the direction of the vardo.

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Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts!

[call-sign-shark]

Bonus from the series Heaven in Your Eyes (Arthur Shelby x You):

Also, I was completely drunk when I made this. So, sorry for the nonsense.

[scarletlove2]

Yippee mood bored for more useless stuff

Resident evil👇

⁎‧·‧̩̥˟*̥⁎‧·‧̩̥˟*̥☾𖤓☽*̥˟‧̩̥·‧⁎‧·‧̩̥˟*̥

⁎‧·‧̩̥˟*̥⁎‧·‧̩̥˟*̥☾𖤓☽*̥˟‧̩̥·‧⁎‧·‧̩̥˟*̥

⁎‧·‧̩̥˟*̥⁎‧·‧̩̥˟*̥☾𖤓☽*̥˟‧̩̥·‧⁎‧·‧̩̥˟*̥

Peaky blinders👇

⋆₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆˚₊‧꒰ა◯໒꒱ ‧₊˚‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

⋆₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆˚₊‧꒰ა◯໒꒱ ‧₊˚‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

Devil may cry👇

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

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[wonderlanddreamer]

[1923] Watery Lane, Birmingham.

In the aftermath of a violent ambush on their home, the Shelby family must act quickly to help Lydia, who has been struck by a bullet.

Warnings: Mentions of violence, injury, and blood.

[Part of The Lydia Saga]

The Shelby home, once a bastion of strength and family, now lay in disarray, its proud facade marred by the violence that had shattered its peace. The front door hung askew on its hinges, an ominous welcome to the chaos within. Shattered glass crunched underfoot, mingling with the splintered wood of furniture that had been upturned in the frenzy. The wallpaper, once pristine, was now marred with bullet holes and streaked with soot, a testament to the gunfire that had torn through the house like a relentless storm.

In the hallway, a mirror lay cracked and discarded, its fractured surface reflecting the turmoil in jagged pieces. Family photographs, once lovingly displayed, were now scattered across the floor, their frames broken, and images of happier times lying amid the debris. The once comforting hearth in the parlour now seemed cold and distant, its warmth extinguished by the violence that had invaded.

The betting shop, a symbol of the Shelby enterprise, fared no better. The smell of burnt paper hung in the air, mixing with the lingering scent of smoke. Betting slips and ledger pages were strewn about like leaves in a gale, their contents rendered meaningless amid the destruction. The counter, usually bustling with activity, was now a barricade of chaos, its surface scarred by stray bullets and splintered wood.

The shelves that once held stacks of coins and tidy ledgers were bare, their contents either pilfered or scattered in the melee. Chairs lay toppled and broken, a testament to the frantic struggle that had taken place. The safe, usually a symbol of security and prosperity, stood ominously open, its contents rifled through and discarded in the frenzy.

Outside, the rain continued to fall, its relentless patter a stark contrast to the silence now enveloping Watery Lane. It washed away the blood and soot, but it could not cleanse the memory of what had transpired. Despite the fear and uncertainty, the family was rallying as they always did—together.

The memory of the ambush replayed in Lydia's mind with vivid clarity. She had been running, heart pounding in her chest, when she spotted John ahead—a beacon of safety amid the chaos. But before she could reach him, a sharp, searing pain had exploded in her side, stealing her breath and sending her crashing to the ground. The world had spun around her, the sounds of gunfire and shouting stretching into a distant echo as she lay there, paralyzed by shock and pain. She couldn't quite recall which of her brothers had reached her side first, but there was no mistaking who had exacted vengeance on the man responsible for her injury. Despite her blurred vision, the sight of blood splattered across Arthur’s clenched fists was unmistakable. In a fit of turbulent rage, he had forsaken all weapons, choosing instead to unleash his fury with his bare hands. Each blow landed with ferocious intensity, reducing the man’s face to a grotesque, unrecognisable mess.

Now, Lydia lay curled on her bed, the very act of breathing a torturous endeavour. The bullet had left a jagged wound in her side, a cruel reminder of the violence she had narrowly escaped. Blood had soaked through her shirt, forming a dark, ominous stain that spread with each painful breath. The skin around the injury was angry and inflamed, radiating a heat that spoke of the body's desperate fight against the intrusion.

Her small hands, normally so full of life and mischief, clutched the sheets in a white-knuckled grip, as if anchoring herself against the tide of pain threatening to sweep her away. Her eyes, dulled by agony and fever, flickered to her Aunt Polly, seeking reassurance in her steady presence.

Polly Gray moved with the grace of someone who had faced crises such as these before. Her heart ached for Lydia's suffering, but she buried her emotions beneath a mask of calm determination. She gently dabbed at the wound with a clean cloth, her movements careful and precise, trying to soothe Lydia's pain even as she prepared to alleviate it further.

The room around Lydia seemed to blur, the world reduced to a haze of pain that refused to relent. Each breath was a struggle, a sharp reminder of the bullet lodged in her side. Her pale skin felt like it was on fire, the wound throbbing with a relentless, searing agony that no amount of reassurance could ease. The damp cloth Ada used to wipe away her tears was a fleeting comfort, offering only momentary relief from the feverish heat that enveloped her.

Ada remained a tranquil presence, her gentle touch a beacon of calm in the storm of Lydia's suffering. Yet, despite Ada's soothing words and soft whispers, the pain clawed at Lydia's senses, drowning out the world around her. It was as if the hurt had taken on a life of its own, consuming her thoughts and rendering her oblivious to everything except the burning insistence of the injury. She had truly never felt anything like it, and never wanted to feel anything like it ever again.

Across the room, Finn stood beside Polly, trying to project an air of calm he didn't truly feel. His hands trembled slightly with the weight of responsibility, but he forced them to remain steady as he passed tools to Polly. Each time his fingers brushed Polly's, it was a silent exchange of strength and solidarity.

Finn's voice wavered as he spoke, reaching out to Lydia with a promise he desperately hoped to fulfil. "It’s going to be okay, Lyds," he said, his words laced with a mixture of hope and fear. But even as he spoke, he knew that his assurances were no match for the relentless pain that gripped his younger sister. His heart ached with the helplessness of watching Lydia suffer, wishing he could do more to ease her pain.

The door swung open and Tommy stepped inside, his presence commanding immediate attention. He carried with him a bowl of water in one hand and a cloth in the other. His appearance seemed to ease the tension in the room, his usually calculating gaze softened by concern as he looked at Lydia.

There was a tenderness in the way he approached, a complete contrast to the hardened leader he was known to be. His shirt was stained with blood, sleeves balled up to his elbows revealing injuries of his own that had been hastily patched up by John downstairs. Yet none of that mattered to him in that moment, his own pain of no importance to himself considering the juncture they were at.

As Tommy reached the bed, Ada quietly asked, her voice tinged with worry, “How are the others, Tommy?” He gave a brief nod as he set the bowl down with a gentle clink, his words concise but reassuring. “They’re managing,” he replied, not wanting to dwell on anything but Lydia at that moment.

Tommy carefully positioned himself on the bed so that Lydia could rest partially on his lap. His arms wrapped around her shoulders with a gentle strength, cradling her close against his chest. As Lydia settled against him, Tommy became acutely aware of the tremors coursing through her small frame. Holding her close, Tommy could feel the rapid flutter of her heartbeat against his arms, a frantic rhythm that echoed the turmoil within her. The sensation of her trembling tugged at something deep within him, a mixture of protectiveness and helplessness that he rarely allowed himself to feel. Tommy Shelby was accustomed to being the one in control, yet with Lydia in his arms, he was harshly reminded of the fragility of life and the limits of his power.

Lydia’s fear was palpable, a living thing that wrapped itself around her like a vice, squeezing tighter with each passing moment. The anticipation of having the bullet removed loomed over her like a dark cloud, and she was dreadfully aware of the pain it would bring.

"T-Tommy," she whimpered, her voice barely rising above the fragile whisper of her breath. It was a plea born of desperation and fear, her small hands clutching at his arms as if they were the only thing anchoring her to this world. “Please don’t. Don’t let them touch it. It hurts so much.”

Tommy's heart clenched at the painful vulnerability in her voice, an abdominal ache that resonated deep within him. He wanted nothing more than to take the pain away from her and take it upon himself, but he knew this was a battle she had to endure, and all he could do was be there, steadfast and unwavering.

He kept his voice steady and soothing, a lifeline in the tumultuous sea of her fear. "I know, love. I know it hurts," he murmured, brushing his lips against the top of her head with infinite tenderness. His breath was warm against her skin, a tangible promise of his presence. "But you're the bravest of us all, you know that? You're our little soldier."

Lydia sniffled, her tears soaking into his sleeves as she clung to him, drawing strength from his presence. She could feel the steady beat of his heart, a reassuring rhythm that spoke of safety and love. "It will all be alright, little one," he whispered, his voice a soft rumble, each word a balm against her fear. “We're all here with you, Lydia. You're not alone, alright?"

Her sobs quieted into small, hiccuping breaths as she clung to him, drawing strength from his presence. Tommy nodded to Polly, signalling that Lydia was as ready as she could be. Ada and Finn moved to help hold her steady, each offering murmured words of encouragement, their touches gentle and sure.

The moment Polly began her work, time seemed to slow, stretching each second into an agonising eternity. Lydia's scream tore through the room, a raw, anguished sound that pierced the air like a knife. It was a sound that clawed at Tommy's heart, each note of her pain resonating deep within his soul. He held her tighter, as if his embrace could somehow shield her from her suffering.

"It's okay, little one. I'm here. I’ve got you. Just a little longer," he whispered, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him. He stroked her hair with a gentle hand, keeping her as steady as his strong arms would allow.

Polly worked with expert precision, her hands steady even as her heart ached for Lydia. She murmured soft reassurances as she carefully probed the wound, her fingers deft and sure despite the gravity of the task. The room was tense with anticipation, each person holding their breath as Polly continued her delicate work.

John and Arthur appeared in the doorway, drawn by the sound of their sister's distress. Their faces were grim, shadows etching deeper lines into their already weathered features. Each of them bore their own marks of the recent clash, Arthur’s knuckles were completely wrapped in bandages while John’s skin and clothes were still streaked with blood. They stood silently, knowing that too many hands would only add to the chaos, their presence a silent vow of solidarity and strength. Tommy caught their eyes, a brief exchange of looks that spoke volumes. At that moment, words were unnecessary.

Time seemed suspended, each moment stretching into an eternity filled with Lydia's cries and Tommy's whispered reassurances. Polly's focus was unwavering as she worked, her hands moving with a surgeon's precision despite the emotional weight of the task. Finally, with a deftness born of experience, she extracted the bullet.

The metallic clink as it fell into a dish was a sound that seemed to echo with finality, a signal that the worst was over. Relief washed through the room, palpable and profound, like a wave breaking against a weary shore. Lydia's cries subsided into soft whimpers, her body relaxing slightly as the immediate agony began to fade, replaced by a deep, bone-weary exhaustion.

Polly bandaged Lydia’s side with meticulous care, her touch embodying both the clinical precision of a healer and the tender affection of a mother. As she tied off the bandage, she leaned down to press a gentle kiss to Lydia's forehead. "There now, darling," she murmured, her voice a soothing lullaby. "It's done. You're such a brave girl."

Tommy's hold on Lydia did not waver; he kept her close, his cheek resting atop her head, his heart swelling with relief and pride. The tension that had gripped him slowly began to ease, though his arms remained wrapped protectively around her, a fortress against the world. "You did it, Lydia," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, each word a gentle caress. "It’s over, you did it."

Lydia nestled deeper into his embrace, her small body fitting perfectly against his. She was exhausted but comforted by the familiar presence of her family. "I was brave," she murmured, a small, tired smile playing on her lips, the pain of the moment already beginning to fade, replaced by the warmth of her brother's love and the safety of her family.

"The bravest," Tommy agreed, shifting slightly so she could rest more comfortably against him. His hand continued to stroke her hair, his touch gentle and reassuring, his presence a sanctuary of safety and love. As the room began to settle, the tension slowly dissipated like mist under the morning sun.

Ada leaned forward, brushing a stray lock of hair from Lydia's face, her touch tender and full of affection. "You were amazing, Lydia," she said, her voice a soft murmur that seemed to wrap around them all. Finn stood at the foot of the bed, his shoulders relaxing as the crisis passed, his eyes filled with admiration for his little sister's courage.

Gradually, the others began to leave the room, understanding that what Lydia needed most now was rest. They departed quietly, their footsteps soft against the floorboards, leaving Tommy and Lydia cocooned in the quiet intimacy of the dimly lit room.

As Lydia's eyelids grew heavy, her body finally succumbing to the pull of sleep, Tommy adjusted his hold, ensuring she was as comfortable as possible. In the quiet aftermath of chaos, as the candlelight flickered softly and the shadows danced less ominously, they were reminded once again of the power of family. Lydia drifted into a much-needed sleep, feeling safe and cherished, her brother's words echoing softly in her dreams.

Tags: @novashelby @lau219 @peakyswritings

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[starlight045]

The Price of Revenge

| Chapter One |

| Luca Changretta X OC!

| Summarry: When Luca Changretta comes seeking revenge in the form of a Vendetta out for the Shelby family Elizabeth Shelby is forced to pick between two options. She can marry the man who has killed her brother or refuse and let the bloodshed continue. People get hurt, secrets are revealed and Elizabeth makes the unlikely decision. (This is set in 1925 during season 4 of the show Peaky Blinders.)

| I hope you guys like this story! And perusual feedback is encouraged. :)

Chapter One

1925, Birmingham, England

The rain came down steadily on the cobblestone streets in Birmingham. Luca Changretta stood in his hotel room looking out the window when Matteo came in. His sleeves were rolled up and his top buttons were undone.

“Luca,” Matteo said, taking his hat off. Luca stayed facing the window, turning his head over his shoulder to look at the man. He had his toothpick hanging out of his mouth.

“Matteo…dimmi.” he said, turning to look at him. Both Matteo and him had been close. Friends since infancy practically. Now they work together. Matteo helped him but sometimes Luca would lose his temper.

“John Shelby è morto. Abbiamo colpito Michael Grey ma pensiamo che sia sopravvissuto.” Luca nodded his head and walked up to the shorter Italian.

“Sì…sì, è grandioso. Perché quel fottuto Michael Grey è ancora vivo?” He asked, gritting his teeth.

“Someone managed to get him to the hospital on time I guess. I believe it was John’s wife.”

Luca shook his head and sighed.

“You can go Matteo.

____________________________________________________________

Angel Changretta who was Luca’s oldest brother and the eldest son of Vicente and Audrey Changretta was killed a year ago. It all started a year ago or so when the Shelby family found out Angel was the love interest of Lizzie Stark. So after Angel’s restaurant is burnt down Vicente goes to confront Arthur and John. But when both brothers threaten Angel the problem is made worse.

Vicente threatens the Shelby brothers and John gets into a fight with Angel beating him up and slashing his eyes. As a form of revenge, Vicente calls a hitman to kill Thomas Shelby but they end up killing his wife instead by mistake and later that week Angel is killed. This isn’t where the story ends as Vicente is ordered to be assassinated along with his wife Audrey but Audrey is spared and Arthur had shot Vicente.

With both his father and oldest brother dead Luca Changretta came from New York seeking revenge. The Changrettas were a family that belonged to a Mafia that dealt with liquor in New York. Luca was determined to avenge both his brother and father.

The Shelby family had all received black hands in their mail and were terrified. Everyone except for Elizabeth Shelby, the third oldest Shelby sibling.

When she received a call in her small neighborhood away from small heath she was surprised to hear the news. She came on the next train bags in hand as her family ushered her inside. “What’s going on? I got the call.” She asked setting her stuff down as Tommy and the whole family stood in the room together.

“Luca Changretta’s father and brother were killed by John and Arthur. Now he’s here from New York seeking revenge. It’s called a vendetta.” *He said, handing Elizabeth the card they all received.* __________________________________ And now here they were with John dead and Micheal in the hospital. Elizabeth hated staying in small heath; she promised herself she would never come back. She always hated what her brothers had been doing too. The killing, the illegal things, the never-ending wars.

But yet here she was and her younger brother was dead. He was killed by the men hired by an old flame. But her family didn’t know and she didn’t dare tell them.

Besides, it shouldn’t have mattered much. It happened when they were teenagers and Luca was just staying for a month as his father needed to clean up business.

He was different back then. Young, carefree, sweet, and caring. He was a doll. But now all Elizabeth heard was about how he had killed people or what he was doing in New York and that he had aged and grown cold. She knew a different Luca Changretta. And he knew a different Elizabeth Shelby.

____

The night was late and Polly Gray walked into a club wearing her red dress and fur shoulder wrap. She went to sit at the bar ordering champagne. As she sat a grey fedora was slowly placed next to her on the table.

The man’s tattoos were peaking out from under his sleeve, a black hand on his upper wrist, and a small cross on his middle finger. He stood letting the barman pour him a drink before sitting down next to her.

“This, is public enough, no?” he asked before taking a sip of the whiskey.

“yes.”

“So?” Luca asked in return.

“The boy in the hospital is out of bounds. And I’ll ask you to spare Finn and Arthur.” Polly said.

“In return for what?”

“Tommy Shelby.”

“And why should I trust you?” Luca asked before turning to look at Polly.

“Because you know our history. You know what happened between us.”

“You have an unlikely Cassius,” he said before drinking again. “You know…my mother. My mother knew your mother. She taught her how to read.” Luca said.

“Did she tell you that John and Arthur spared her life? When Tommy wanted her dead.” Polly asked not looking him in the eyes.

“Yeah and now she’s giving me the information about you people. So Tommy Shelby was right. his ruthlessness was justified. You should have killed her when you had the chance.” Luca told her.

“John was a good boy. Arthur tries. Tommy’s different. You take Tommy spare the rest.” Polly asked the man not once looking at him.

“But…What if it isn’t Tommy Shelby I want.” Luca asked which made Polly stop putting her dink down. “Years ago…I met this wonderful breathtaking girl. She was beautiful. Very polite in her mannerisms and all. I thought we’d get married one day.” Polly froze. He could only be talking about one person. “That is what I want. I want her.”

“Elizabeth is not a part of the deal.”

“Well, she is now. I marry her, we can end it.” Luca said as Polly sat there in disbelief not knowing what to do in this situation.

Polly didn’t look at Luca. She kept her eyes trained on anything but him.

“You know my mother used to say this about you. She said that ‘Polly Gray’ that child could never let go of a grievance.” Luca started making Polly look at him. “And she loves to dance. What do you say hm? Wanna dance?” Luca asked.

“I don’t dance, anymore,” Polly said as she stood up and pulled her fur shoulder wrap over her body before leaving.

“Yeah, that’s a shame. Cause you’re dancing with me.” Luca said as she walked off finishing his drink.

And Polly with this new news went to go tell Tommy that night. both she and him agreed that they wouldn’t settle with Luca’s new terms. There was no way they could marry off Liza who had never even picked up a gun in her life. It would kill her being married to an Italian mob boss.

A Week Later

It was a cold morning and tired of being cooped up in Small Health Elizabeth dressed up and went out. She was quite the painter and always had been. So as soon as she split from the chaos that was the peaky blinders she sold her art in upper Birmingham and even made it to a museum or two. She had planned on doing a few landscape portraits but couldn’t find the right tools at any of the nearby shops or vendors. So despite Tommy’s orders and wishes she went out in the outer parts of Birmingham and looked for what she needed.

It was at the fifth store of the day when she was looking at the different shades of blue when she felt the presence of someone standing behind her. Not thinking much of it she didn’t pay attention until it spoke up.

“That’s a nice shade.” He said and Elizabeth froze where she was at.

There was no way. It couldn’t be him. How did he find her if it was? Turning around Elizabeth’s suspicions were confirmed. It was Luca Changretta with his toothpick leaning against another shelf.

“Oh don’t tell me you don’t recognize me.” He smirked, taking his toothpick out and twisting it in his fingers.

Everyone was right. He did look older. He had a scar or two on his face and his eyes held more to them. As if he had seen the world and horrible things.

And of course, he was way taller and wore fine leather shoes along with tailored suits.

“Luca,” Elizabeth said softly.

“Elizabeth.” He said with a smirk.

“Are you here to kill me?” Elizabeth asked nervously.

“Because if you are just…just do it now.”

Luca just continued to smirk and he shook his head.

“No dolce I’m not here to kill you. Why would I do that?”

“Well because you killed my brother! You sent a black hand to my whole family except for me.”

“There’s a good reason for that Dolce. Besides it’s called a vendetta your brothers killed my brother and father.” And at that word, Elizabeth made a face.

“I just want to talk. Simple as that.” Luca shrugged putting his toothpick back between his lips.

“Fine,” Elizabeth muttered before going to buy her paints but Luca stopped her trying to buy them for her. “I can buy my own. I do make money Luca.”

“Let me be a gentleman, Liza,” he said putting the money down as Elizabeth rolled her eyes.

After the pair walked out Elizabeth was immediately met with the sight of Luca’s black Rolls Royce his men standing next to the car their pistols on their carriers.

Luca nodded to them before putting his hand on the small of Elizabeth’s back and walking down the street with him. She immediately swatted his hand away

With a spark of fear ready to ignite in her chest, she looked up at the tall mobster. “So Luca…if you’re not going to kill me. What the fuck do you want?”

“I met with your aunt, last night. She offered me a promising deal. To spare two of your brothers. and your cousin, for your brother Tommy.” Elizabeth’s head immediately snapped up to him her jaw dropped.

“Polly wouldn’t do that,” she said as Luca huffed out a laugh. “I didn’t think so either. She said uh, their history is why she’s doing it.” And Elizabeth thought about the story Ada had told her recently. how everyone was almost hung at the noose and Tommy saved them in the nick of time. Ironically it was also his fault.

“But I told her, Tommy isn’t the one I want,” Luca said looking down at Elizabeth. and Elizabeth felt the spark in her chest. Maybe he was there to kill her. Maybe he also grew into a liar. He was a mob boss now.

“I offered a deal. Marriage or vendetta?” which made her stop walking and Luca turned to look at her.

“You want to marry me.”

“I need a wife. I’ve got everything but one. Besides I liked what we had when we were young. I missed you.”

“Why would I marry you? You killed my brother. Almost killed my cousin. And you think things should be like when we were kids?” Elizabeth said getting bothered and upset.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Luca said gently grabbing her arm not wanting to draw attention.

“Get off of me,” she said yanking her arm off.

“I think you’d marry me, to stop this whole Vendetta. My mother told me about you now Elizabeth Shelby. You hate what your brothers do. You’ve never touched a gun. You hate your brothers for being like this. I hear you’re a great artist too. You already lost John. What about Arthur? or Finn? I know you’re close with Micheal at least. Wouldn’t be hard to kill that one. OR what about Ada hm? Your little sister.” Luca said as Elizabeth’s hands shook in fear and her eyes became wet.

Sure she wasn’t as bothered by Luca. But he unsettled her to her core. She knew she was no longer dealing with the sweet boy she once knew. She was now dealing with a grown man she didn’t know with the same eyes. They were essentially strangers. But strangers with memories.

“You choose, Liza. Vendetta…or marriage?” Luca told her. “You let me know soon amore,” he said pointing to her before Elizabeth turned around and walked away her legs wobbly. She couldn’t believe what had just happened.

____________________________________________________

[lau219]

A mood board Christmas gift for my friend @novashelby, whose OC Evie never fails to make me laugh. Read the story, and you’ll understand…

Merry Christmas, my dear friend! 💗